


Happily Ever After Just Took Time

by bookworm1517



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clintasha Origin Story, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Avengers (2012), Romantic Relationship, STRIKE Team Delta Origin, Slow Build, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 261,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm1517/pseuds/bookworm1517
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that when fighting at each other's side...they would overcome the world." - Socrates, in Plato's Symposium</p>
<p>He was supposed to kill her. She was supposed to be the perfect operative, obedient to a fault. Turns out they both have trouble following orders.</p>
<p>The story of Clint and Natasha from their first meeting until Phil goes to deal with the events of the first Iron Man film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any characters/organizations/plotlines related to them. If I did, we'd have a lot more Black Widow and Hawkeye.
> 
> A few notes on the story: each chapter begins with a flashback, it is almost completely written so updates should come every day, and I will put additional warnings at the top of each chapter as they apply.
> 
> Please don't hesitate to review! I would love to hear what people think.

_"One of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don't come home."_

_\- Margaret Mead_

* * *

_Moscow, Russia – 1993_

The little girl stumbled down the hallway, rubbing her eyes. Her bright red curls stood in contrast to the white night gown she wore. She came to the end of the hall and reached up for the massive door handle. She stepped inside the dimly lit room and looked at the man behind the desk.

“Papa,” she whispered.

The man at the desk stood up and walked to the girl, he looked worried. “Natalia,” he said. “What is it?”

The little girl looked up at her father, “I had a bad dream.”

The man bent down and looked into her tear-filled green eyes, “I’ll come tuck you in in a few minutes. Go back to bed for now.”

She gave him a small smile and a big hug before nervously eyeing the other two men in the room, sitting across from her father. Then she walked out and returned to her room, crawling beneath the blankets and waiting for her father.

In the dim study, her father glared at the two men. “No,” he declared. “You cannot take her. She is not right for the program.”

The man on the left smirked, “Dr. Romanov, we can take her. And we will. It is only a matter of if you and your wife survive the…transaction.”

“She’s only six!” the doctor protested. “She is too sweet and gentle.”

Now it was the man on the right’s turn to smirk at the scientist, “She will be our greatest success.”

When it appeared the doctor was going to continue to argue, the first man spoke up. “I heard your wife is expecting again… It would be a tragedy if something happened to her…”

The doctor paled and sat back in his seat.

The two men stood up.

“Thank you for your time Dr. Romanov. We’ll send an agent over tomorrow to escort your daughter to our facility.”

The two turned and left the room.

Dr. Romanov put his head in his hands and wept. After a few moments, he pulled himself together and stood up. He walked through the house until he reached his daughter’s room.

She was sound asleep.

He shut the door quietly and sank to the ground.

“I am so sorry my little Natalia,” he whispered.

* * *

_Minsk, Belarus – 2007_

Natasha smiled endearingly at the chubby man next to her. He took it as a sign to continue telling whatever mindless story he was engaged in. But the Black Widow wasn’t listening. She scanned the room, looking for her mark.

There, across the room from her was the host of the party, flanked by his two bodyguards. General Yurij Padashoue was the head of the Belarusian army and had been a thorn in the Russian government’s side for years. They had sent the best to take him out and Natasha was not going to fail.

Her escort for the evening dragged her attention back to him, “Nastia, dear?”

She smiled at him and nodded as he excused himself. “Urgent matters of state,” he claimed.

Natasha began to work her way around the room, stopping and admiring the stately decorations every few feet or turning and observing the dancing couples, all the while moving closer and closer to her mark.

Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, Natasha downed the liquid and stumbled towards the bodyguards drunkenly. She tripped into the burly men and let out a giggle, dropping the champagne glass. The man grabbed her roughly and moved to shove her away when the general reached out and stopped him.

Padashoue took Natasha by the arm and led her from the room. She continued to giggle drunkenly. Inside she was smirking as the target played right into her hands. “Let me help you,” he said smoothly.

Natasha nodded and allowed herself to be pulled out of the party and into a private bedroom. The general leered at her as she collapsed onto the bed. He truly believed she was wasted. He shrugged off his jacket and moved towards the bed, tugging at his tie.

The man pressed his body on top of hers. She let out another giggle and flipped them over so she was on top as he pressed their lips together. Suddenly she had a knife pressed against his neck. Padashoue’s eyes widened.

Natasha grinned at the man and reached for the gun that was attached to her thigh. She was going to make this as bloodless as possible. While putting a knife to someone’s throat was an effective way to subdue them, slitting throats was messy.

The window in the bedroom shattered and Natasha dove out of the way on instinct. A blinking arrow was embedded in the bed right where Natasha had been moments before, narrowly missing Padashoue himself.

She jumped up and raced to the window, pulling out her gun. She scanned the rooftops around her and saw a man almost directly across from the building she was in. Natasha fired three shots at him in rapid succession then dove out of the way as another arrow entered the window and lodged into the floor.

Padashoue had managed to recover from his shock and stumbled out of the room, yelling for his bodyguards. The two arrows began to blink faster and faster. Natasha’s eyes widened and she sprinted for the door swearing in Russian.

She threw open the door and dove for the stairs. Behind her, the room exploded. Natasha rolled down the stairs and into the room where the dancers were. They had all frozen for a moment when the explosion happened. Chaos erupted.

Natasha pushed herself off the floor and ducked into a side hall. She made her way out of the building and began hurrying to the apartment she was using as a base. Her mind was going a mile a minute but two thoughts were prevalent: one, she had failed in her assignment and two, someone had tried to kill her.

The first thought was the one that caused her the most worry at the moment. Her employers would not be happy when they found out about tonight’s debacle. She had blown her cover and failed to kill Padashoue. It also appeared as though she had been compromised. They were already upset with her for her freelancing.

The second thought disturbed her more than it should have. Natasha was a professional and she should not be as upset about being a target as she was. She had no doubt those arrows were meant for her, the question was why the assassin didn’t succeed in hitting her. Obviously he was a master archer, so why didn’t he kill her?

When she was three blocks away from her apartment, Natasha’s phone began to go off. She ducked into a back alleyway and answered.

“Widow,” the low voice on the other end of the phone greeted her. “Has the target been neutralized?”

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “No.”

A long silence followed her answer. “What happened?” The man on the phone kept his voice even but Natasha knew he was angry.

“I had him and was about to complete the mission when someone interrupted us. He sent two arrows through the window and blew up the room,” she explained tersely.

“Do you know who the attacker was?”

Natasha took a deep breath, “Hawkeye.”

A second silence followed her words. “You have 24 hours Widow. Take care of the target and Hawkeye.”

Natasha nodded, “Understood.”

She leaned against the wall of the alley and took a few shaking breaths. The Black Widow bent her head and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to calm down. Now was not the time to panic.

* * *

Hawkeye ran across the rooftops, following the Black Widow as she fled the party. Usually, he would have taken any clear shot he had as he chased her through the city, but he wanted to see how she reacted now that she knew she was being targeted.

Clint Barton usually didn’t torture his targets. He got in and he got out. But a savage part of him wanted to play with the Black Widow a bit. She deserved it and more based on what her file said. He was also a bit disconcerted that she had managed to take a couple shots at him earlier in the evening.

Clint nocked an arrow and drew his bow when the woman below him paused in an alley. She pulled out a cell phone and began speaking into it. Although he was two hundred yards away, Hawkeye could see the anger and worry on the Black Widow’s face. This phone call obviously didn’t help her situation.

Clint took a deep breath prepared to shoot when the Widow slumped against the wall in defeat. He paused, staring at the woman, studying her. After a few moments she pulled herself together and left the alley, glancing up as she left.

In the moment when Clint saw her face clearly, he was struck by how young this woman was. He had known she would be young, but no one knew the Black Widow’s exact age. If he had to guess, he would have put her at maybe 20 years old.

Intrigued, Clint returned the arrow to his quiver and slung his bow across his back. With a sigh, he touched a finger to his ear before speaking.

“I’m going to need a few more days,” he said calmly.

The earpiece crackled to life, “What happened?”

Clint sighed again, “I took a shot but she dodged it. She’s fast. Then she made me.”

“Where is she now?”

“On her way to her apartment.”

There was a long pause before the man spoke again, “Hawkeye, take any shot you get.”

Clint shook his head impatiently, “I can’t. Not yet. There’s something about her that makes me think she would be a good asset.”

“No! You don’t make that call. You go in, and you shoot the target. I decide who we bring in,” the voice snarled.

“Coulson!” Clint snapped. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” The response was instantaneous.

“Then trust me on this. If I can’t convince her to turn or I realize I’m wrong I’ll take her out. Until then, give me some more time.”

“You have two days. What do you need from us?”

“I need everything you can get me on the Black Widow. I don’t care if it’s verifiable or just rumor. Get it to me ASAP,” Clint said. “Also, how important is it that General Padashoue not be killed?”

A deep sigh echoed over the comms unit, “He’s not your primary concern.”

Clint nodded even though the other man—Coulson, he had called him—couldn’t see it.

“Clint.” It was the first time the man had used Hawkeye’s code name in the conversation. “Not everyone can be saved. She might not want to come in. Are you prepared to take the shot if she refuses?”

“Let me know when you have information for me,” Clint barked before turning off his earpiece. He didn’t want to think about the answer to that question.

He jogged across the roofs of Minsk, careful to stay out of sight of the Black Widow. He stopped on a rooftop across from the building she entered.

Examining the building, he was a bit surprised. The first two floors were home to a dance studio and the top one had a few apartments. He peered through a window on the third floor and saw the woman enter her apartment, disarming several traps.

Clint realized that the apartment had two windows in it and both were uncovered. One was in the main room and kitchen area, the other in the bedroom. Either the Widow was incredibly confident, or she wanted to be killed. No sane assassin would choose to reside in such vulnerable areas. But he supposed the Black Widow wasn't exactly sane...

* * *

Natasha returned to her apartment and immediately began gathering her belongings. She knew she was working on an impossible deadline, but she had done the impossible before. However, she hadn't had to deal with Hawkeye before. She ran through what she knew of the man as she packed up her bags and changed into a pair of black pants with a black shirt and boots.

Hawkeye worked for SHIELD, an intelligence agency founded during the Cold War by the Americans that included much of the world. The idea was to act as a source of protection against any Russian (and Communist in general) plots and to be able to deal with any super-humans that appeared. Hawkeye joined them just over three years before. Before that he had been a contract assassin taking hits for anyone who could pay. His bow and arrow had become his signature. The running joke was that people heard the bullet that killed them, but not the arrow.

He had switched sides and Natasha didn't know why. Contract work definitely paid off. The most important piece of information was that Hawkeye had never missed a shot. Until tonight that is. Somehow, he missed her. Natasha didn't know why he missed her, maybe she was faster than he thought, or maybe he wasn't trying very hard.

As she strapped on her guns and bracelets—her Widow's Bites—Natasha shook thoughts of Hawkeye from her head. He was the secondary problem she had to deal with. Right now, she needed to eliminate Padashoue. It would be a challenge since he had seen her face and knew she was after him. She hoped, that by attacking immediately after the party she would have the element of surprise.

Natasha left the apartment, rearming a few of the traps she had set before leaving. The traps were simply to inconvenience anyone who came looking, she wouldn't be returning to the building.

Reaching the street, Natasha glanced around to make sure no one was watching. She didn't think to look at the rooftops, figuring Hawkeye wouldn't have been able to get down from the roof and follow her so quickly. Kneeling in the middle of the street Natasha opened a manhole cover into the sewers before dropping down and carefully replacing the cover from below.

From the rooftops above Clint watched his target lower herself into the street and disappear. Swearing, he took off for Padashoue's estate. He knew exactly where she was going.

"Hawkeye, report!"

Clint grimaced at the intrusion of noise in his ear, "The Black Widow just headed into the sewers. I believe she is on route to Padashoue's home. Something tells me I’m not going to get her before she kills him."

The man on the other end of the comms hesitated before responding, "It would be best if he were to remain alive. However, your primary mission is to eliminate the Black Widow as quickly as possible. So what happened at the party that left her alive?"

"She dodged," Hawkeye reported through clenched teeth. "She dodged my shot. She's good. And she's young... I need every scrap you can find on her because no one has ever dodged my arrow before."

"Hawkeye," Phil growled. "Don't do anything stupid. You know better than to get involved with a target. She may be young but that file I gave you listed all of her confirmed kills. There are more that are only rumored to be hers. She needs to be stopped. You're the only one that has a chance."

"But she could be a good—“

"No. I make the call when it comes to turning people to assets. Not you, Hawk. And she is too dangerous, too uncontrollable. It's a miracle the Russians still have her in their grasp. You know she freelances when they aren't using her. And you know she doesn't care who she works for, as long as she gets paid."

Hawkeye grit his teeth, he knew all of this, but there was something about her that was bothering him. He knew that she wasn't all bad. He had seen her moment of weakness and realized there was a person still inside. Hawkeye couldn't help it; he saw himself in her, the lost mercenary without a care in the world. There was nothing else he could do but kill for money, until SHIELD and Phil came and changed everything.

"Just get me the information," he demanded.

"Report when you have eyes on her again," Phil said before ending the conversation.

Hawkeye raced across the rooftops of Minsk wondering what to do. Wondering if he would get to Padashoue in time. Wondering if he would get to the Black Widow in time. It seemed possible that he would be able to convince her to join them. But he could be wrong, and then he would have to kill her.

Hawkeye arrived at Padashoue's estate about thirty minutes after he last saw the Black Widow. Everything seemed calm although there were far more guards than there would normally be. All of the curtains were drawn in the massive house and searchlights swept the courtyard and garden in a fixed pattern. The guards patrolling the edge of the estate were doing so in a pattern as well. Hawkeye rolled his eyes in exasperation as he watched one guard sit down in his position. Padashoue needed to learn that numbers didn't always count for more in a fight. There were multiple gaps in the security, which told Hawkeye that the chief of security was an idiot. When the Black Widow was hunting you didn't leave anything to chance.

* * *

 

Natasha levered herself up out of the sewers a block away from Padashoue's estate. She knew there was an entrance in his basement but until she had seen the kind of security around the place she wasn't going to risk getting caught inside without an escape route.

After surveying the building for a few moments she returned to the sewers to plan. The smell was terrible but Natasha didn’t expect any birds to venture underground. After a few minutes of thought she moved deeper into the sewers always working her way to Padashoue's home.

* * *

Hawkeye pressed a button on his bow and felt his quiver whir as it spun to present a grappling arrow. He watched the estate for a moment longer before shooting the arrow to the roof of house and attaching the end of the rope to the roof he was on. He then used his bow to zip line across to the other roof. Anyone who looked up would have seen a shadow flying through the air. But no one did, as Hawkeye had become accustomed to, no one ever looked up when they should.

He landed soundlessly on the rooftop and made his way to the door that led inside. He made quick work of the lock and darted inside of the room. By now the sun as starting to rise. If he had to guess, he would say that the Black Widow had been given 24 hours to deal with Padashoue and at least lose him as a tail. It was a tight deadline and she wouldn't be waiting to make her move.

Creeping through the halls, he didn’t notice another soul in the building, something he found incredibly odd since the outside was so heavily guarded. He began searching rooms and came across what were obviously Padashoue's office, library, sitting room, and dining room. There was no one inside any of them. The next room he searched was the bedroom. There wasn't any sign that he room had been disturbed since the morning when the bed had been made and the dishes taken out.

Hawkeye let out a slight chuckle as he realized what was going on. Padashoue wasn't here. His security wasn't as stupid as it looked; it was all a trap for the Black Widow. Hawkeye paused, he could warn her somehow and then take her out later, or he could let her walk into the trap and see what happens. He decided to wait and watch, something told him the Black Widow would escape this trap. The question was, would she be able to do it before her deadline was up?

* * *

Natasha emerged from the sewers for the second time that night reeking of rancid fish. God she hated using sewers, it was why she had chosen to take out Padashoue at the party instead of at his home. It was much easier to deal with someone when you weren't covered in sludge from whatever ran in the sewers. Natasha quickly scanned the room she was in. It was a simple concrete room; nothing had been done to it since it had been created. There wasn't even a security camera inside. She scoffed at Padashoue's idiocy, thinking he wouldn't be attacked from the sewers.

She moved to the door and pressed her ear to it for a moment to ensure there was no one outside. When she felt certain she was alone she pulled out her lock picking kit and fiddled with the lock for a moment. It opened with a quiet snick and she entered the house.

Natasha crept from shadow to shadow as she navigated her way through the darkened house. The farther she got from the basement the more nervous she felt. The silence in the house descended upon her like a heavy blanket. Nothing moved, not even the air. The searchlights outside were visible from the windows, but they never turned into the house, never did more than provide slight illumination of the floor.

She paused when she reached the end of the hall. According to the blue prints she had studied at the beginning of the mission, the room before her was Padashoue’s bedroom. As Natasha crept forward, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It was too quite in the house. Far too quiet.

But she had a deadline and the time to stop and plan some more didn’t exist. Glancing around once again, Natasha took a deep, steadying breath and moved swiftly across the hall, flinging Padashoue’s door open. Despite the lack of light, Natasha could tell the room was empty. There wasn’t any sign of the bed having been slept in and the air was still. No one hid in one of the corners, Natasha could hear her heart echoing in the silence.

Cursing under her breath she began to methodically search the room. A handful of condoms in his dresser, some clothes in a few drawers, and blank paper on the desk. Nothing useful. Nothing to tell her where Padashoue could have gone. Natasha charged out of the room and began searching the house for anyone. She had to find out where Padashoue was. She didn’t have time for this. Hawkeye was still after her. And she didn’t have nearly enough time at this point. 

* * *

A large group of guards—about two-dozen men—sat in utter silence. Hardly daring to breath as they waited. The Widow was hunting, they could hear a disembodied voice in their earpieces, relaying her every move to them.

“She’s left the second floor. On her way to you. ETA five minutes,” the voice said.

The leader of the squad stood and gestured rapidly; take positions, guns ready.

The men moved slowly, knowing that any noise from one of them would result in severe punishment if not death. The Black Widow couldn’t know they were waiting for her, ready to attack. Each slunk into the shadows around them, trying to become as invisible as possible.

* * *

Natasha felt impatient as she searched the house. She couldn’t catch a break on this assignment. Natasha had hated this assignment from the start, but now that everything was going wrong she was furious. What were her handlers thinking? Sending her in on such a crappy assignment. They hadn’t had much information to go with, and the fact that SHIELD and the Americans were involved would have caused them to hesitate and at least warn her before she went in.

Throwing open the final door in the hall she found herself in a library. Something felt different about this room. It felt as though it had been occupied recently. Creeping slowly into the room Natasha forced herself to take deep, silent breaths as she drew her gun. She moved towards the back of the room, winding through the shelves, assuming that anyone trying to hide in the library would have headed towards the back. Glancing down at the floor Natasha noticed something strange, the floor was dusty, but in some spots it was clear that someone had stood in the room. A beam of light from outside shone through a window, highlighting an area that had obviously seen recent use. The dust particles in the air became apparent in the beam of light and Natasha froze. “дерьмо,” she swore. (Shit.)

There wouldn’t be dust in the air still—at least not in the quantity she saw—if the disturbance had happened over an hour before. This was recent movement, within the last few minutes.

Spinning around, Natasha raised her gun and hurried towards the entrance to the room. Now that she knew what to look for she could see signs of movement all over the place. The number of people remained unknown, but Natasha didn’t plan on staying to find out how many there were.

Natasha had made it halfway back to the door when a man stepped out in front of her. He was wearing night vision goggles and holding an automatic weapon. He pointed the gun at the Black Widow, “Put down your weapons and come with us,” he commanded.

Natasha kept her eyes trained on this man while listening as others scrambled out from behind the shelves.

“Drop it!” the man ordered. “Now.”

Natasha smirked at him; “You aren’t allowed to take a shot at me, at least not right away. Your boss wants me alive.”

The man didn’t refute her statement.

Then Natasha was moving. She dove to her left, taking the soldiers by surprise. She managed to knock down two of them and get behind a third before the others had time to react. Then the shooting started. Natasha managed to get a few rounds off herself, each hitting a target perfectly before the guard she had been using as a shield went down.

Natasha ducked and rolled behind one of the shelves, muttering Russian curses under her breath. There was a pause in the gunfire as the soldiers realized they didn’t have a clear shot at their target. The Black Widow didn’t hesitate. She dove out from behind the shelf she hid behind and let off three rounds before she reached the next place of cover.

The thump of bodies hitting the ground told the Widow her aim had been true. Then the gunfire started again. Bullets shredded the books around Natasha, but none of them hit her. There was another lull as the guards murmured to each other. Natasha couldn’t quite make out their words but they were arguing. Taking a deep breath she once again left her shelter and let off three more shots at the guards. They were quicker to respond this time, their bullets flying before Natasha had reached the next hideaway, moving closer and closer to the door.

This time, they stopped almost immediately. Natasha knew that the soldiers expected her to try for the next shelf again. The worst thing she could do was exactly that. She had to think of something and think of it fast. Checking her clip she realized there were only four bullets left. She checked that another clip sat within easy reach on her belt.

“Alright,” she called to the guards. “I’m coming out. Don’t shoot; I’ll let you take me to your boss. I’d rather not die here.”

“Hold your gun so we can see it,” the leader called.

Natasha slipped her arm out from behind the shelf, holding her gun as nonthreateningly as possible. Then she stepped out from the shelf, on the side closest to the door. The guards had their guns pointed directly at her, fingers on the triggers. Natasha held her hands up in surrender. There were eight men in front of her. Ten were on the ground; two of them were bleeding and moaning. The others were still. Natasha didn’t know where the other men were but she assumed they were trying to flank her.

A sound from several shelves behind her proved Natasha’s assumption correct. Running out of options, she pulled a second gun out and shot at the eight men aiming at her and back towards the noise, meanwhile charging towards the entrance. She only had fifty feet or so to reach the doors.

The bullets started hailing down on Natasha once again. This time she didn’t stop. Hoping that luck would be with her that night and would allow her to escape unscathed. A sharp sting on her thigh caused her long stride to falter slightly, but she recovered swiftly. Barely even noticing when a bullet grazed her upper arm.

Then she barreled out the doors of the library and raced towards the entrance to the building. She needed out. Right now, surprise was on her side. Padashoue’s men wouldn’t expect her to escape their trap let alone run right towards them.

* * *

Hawkeye sat above Padashoue’s complex, watching the patrolling guards. Their patterned patrols came to an end and many turned to face the building. Gunfire echoed through the night and the library lit up sporadically. Hawkeye stood and nocked an arrow; he didn’t want to miss any of the next few minutes. There was a chance the Black Widow would escape the trap they had for laid for her, it wasn’t a large chance, but it existed.

Clint’s earpiece crackled to life. “Hawkeye,” Coulson said. “We have the information you requested.”

“Give it to me,” demanded Clint.

“Black Widow, goes by Natasha Romanoff but this was most likely not her birth name. She was born in Russia and was taken by the Red Room training program at a young age. We don’t know exactly when. She began killing six years ago but was in training until three years ago.

“The two years immediately after she finished training saw a marked decline in the amount of kills. Fifteen months ago something set her off and she went on a rampage. Russia exerts some control over her but it is clear she doesn’t always follow their orders.”

Clint nodded as he listened, “Any hints about how she feels in terms of her employers?”

Coulson sighed, “Clint, she doesn’t feel anything… But it doesn’t appear that she is happy with her position in Russia.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Clint acknowledged before turning off his earpiece and turning back to his target.

The door flew open at the front of Padashoue’s home and he watched as a blur of black darted across the brightly lit courtyard. Clint didn't even try to hide the smirk that crept onto his face as he watched the Black Widow tear her way through Padashoue's guards. They didn't stand a chance as she attacked, not hesitating for a second.

Clint pulled a scope out of his pocket and attached it to his bow quickly before turning his attention back to the scene below. Now, he had no problem examining the Widow's face as she decimated the men in front of her.

It was frightening how little emotion she showed. Not a trace of anger, fear, joy, or sadness showed. Her face was a stony wall. Clint shivered at the coldness in the other assassin's eyes. What could have caused anyone to become so shut down they didn't feel anything? Clint could understand nearly anyone's emotions when it came to killing, whether the killings were justified or not, but the Black Widow's lack of anything terrified him.

The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon when the Widow finally broke away from the guards and darted out of the front gate. Only a handful of men remained standing in the yard.

Clint released some of the tension in his bow as he made to follow the Widow across the city. He just hoped she didn't head back into the sewers because then he risked losing her.

* * *

Natasha ran from Padashoue's complex for a solid twenty minutes before she stopped to rest. She glanced down to examine her leg and winced when she realized what she thought had been a graze was actually a much larger wound. The bullet had gone straight into the meat of her leg and stayed there. Glancing around once, Natasha slid down to rest against the side of the alley she was in.

Opening the bag on her back, she rummaged around for a while before drawing out a large pair of tweezers and some gauze. She took a single deep breath before shoving the tweezers into her thigh. She winced as she dug for the bullet. She could feel it, just out of reach. There! She had it, but it was slippery with blood and the tweezers struggled to grasp it.

Natasha was panting by the time she had managed to pull the bullet out of her leg. It had taken her nearly seven minutes of digging around to finally get a grip on the offending piece of metal and rip it out of her leg. The ground around her leg was covered in blood and she felt weak. With a growl she dropped the tweezers and went about bandaging her wound, packing pads of gauze against it then wrapping it tightly with longer strips. It wasn't a long-term solution. She definitely needed antibiotics and stitches, but it was all she could do at the moment.

Once the wound to her leg had been taken care of, Natasha turned to survey her other injuries. Her leg had become a pulsing ache after being bandaged, but she pushed that pain away. Her ribs were at least bruised from her fight with the guards in the complex, if not more severely damaged. Natasha gingerly pushed on her abdomen, checking for cracks or breaks. Thankfully there weren't any. Then she noticed the blood trailing past her elbow and down to her hand. With a sigh, Natasha turned her attention to the graze on her arm. It was a minor wound, but combined with the gunshot to her thigh, it wasn't one she could leave bleeding. She bandaged this one in much the same manner as her leg, using her teeth to pull the knot tight.

Natasha pushed herself to her feet hissing at the pain as it crashed over her. Her leg shook as she put weight onto it and it was all she could do not to cry out. Biting her lip, she forced herself towards the end of the alley and back onto the streets. Cursing quietly to herself she moved slowly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. She’d lost too much blood.

* * *

Clint watched from the rooftops as the assassin pulled a bullet from her leg without any painkillers then proceeded to get up and walk away. He could see the slight stiffness in her gait as she walked away, but it was unlikely anyone else would notice the change.

The comms unit in his ear crackled to life once again and Agent Coulson's voice rang clearly, "Sit-rep."

Clint grit his teeth knowing Coulson wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I tracked her to Padashoue's. She would have gotten him, if the guy had been home. Instead it was a trap for her, and she managed to escape it. By my count there were about two dozen guys waiting inside the building and another sixty outside. I don't know what happened inside, but the target cut through the guys in the courtyard as if they were nothing."

Clint paused for a moment before continuing, "I followed her to an alley where she tended to her wounds. Phil, she just ripped a bullet out of her leg without any painkillers then walked away as if it was nothing. She's good."

Coulson sighed, "Hawkeye, your orders are to take her out. There is no doubt that she's a superb operative. That's what got her in trouble in the first place."

"She'd be a great asset," Clint shot back.

"Hawkeye, you have your orders. The Council isn't going to change them just because you think she might be an asset," Coulson said. Clint could hear his handler's annoyance despite the man's attempts at sounding patient.

Clint was silent for a moment, "You haven't told them yet."

"...I'm hoping I won't have to tell them," Coulson eventually responded. "Stay on her and take the shot. Just know that when Fury calls for a sit-rep I won't be able to keep this from him."

Clint nodded, "Sorry to put you in this position Phil."

"Why can't you just take the shot?" Phil asked. "You know her history, you know she deserves it."

Clint shook his head in frustration before realizing his handler couldn't seem him. "I'm not sure I can explain it right now.... I'm not sure I understand it yet."

Phil swore over the comms, "Dammit Clint, you can't make anything easy. Keep me in the loop on what's happening. And if you get a chance, please just take the shot."

"Will do," Clint replied before refocusing on following the Russian assassin.

* * *

Natasha had almost made it to one of her safe houses when her phone went off again. Cursing violently in Russian she answered it, pressing it to her ear.

“We have reports of you failing to eliminate the target again,” the voice on the other end coldly greeted her. “Explain.”

“I infiltrated his home, but he wasn’t there, he’s gone to ground,” Natasha replied. “They had set a trap in the hopes of catching me.”

There was silence over the line. Then Natasha heard muffled voices in the background. They were deciding her next instructions.

“You’ve failed us,” the voice drawled.

“I can still eliminate Padashoue,” Natasha insisted, knowing that her success or failure meant her life or death. “And deal with Hawkeye.”

More silence greeted her.

“We’re done cleaning up your messes Widow,” the voice said.

In the background Natasha heard another voice, “Put out a hit order on the Black Widow.”

The call ended abruptly.

Natasha dumped the phone in the nearest trashcan before turning and darting back the way she had come. The safe house wasn’t safe any longer. Her own government had turned on her. Maybe if she took out Hawkeye and Padashoue she’d be forgiven, but she would have to hurry before other assets came after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview of Next Chapter:
> 
> "Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow," he finally said. "You have a lot to answer for."
> 
> Natasha glared at him. "Bite me!" she snarled.


	2. Chapter Two

 

_Moscow, Russia—1993_

Natalia knew her Papa was upset during breakfast. Usually he told funny stories and would play games with her using the food. Today he didn't do any of that. Instead he kept sending her funny looks, and Mama kept looking at him funny. Natalia didn't know what was wrong, but she didn't like it.

"Mama," she said. "When will my baby brother be here?"

Her mother smiled at her, "In a few months, dear. And remember, we don't know if the baby is a boy or a girl, so you could get a baby brother or sister."

Natalia pouted a bit, "Can I give it back if it's a sister?"

Mrs. Romanova laughed, "No, you may not. You're going to love being a big sister to anyone."

"Okay," Natalia said dejectedly.

The ringing doorbell caused the family to look up.

"I wonder who that could be," Mrs. Romanova said as she rose to get the door. She was only four and half months pregnant, just starting to show clearly.

Dr. Romanov looked at Natalia sadly, "Natalia, today you aren't going to school, you'll be going with the man at the door."

Natalia frowned; she liked school and didn't want to miss a day. And something in father's tone made her worry. But she nodded because she knew that's what her Papa wanted her to do.

Mrs. Romanova returned with a middle-aged man behind her. He had taken his hat off and held it in his hands. The man smiled at Dr. Romanov then at Natalia, "Good morning Dr. Romanov, this must be Natalia."

She nodded quietly and moved closer to her Papa. This man seemed nice but something didn't feel right to her.

"My name is Vladimir Globa, I'm here to escort Natalia to our facility today," he continued smoothly.

Mrs. Romanova rounded on her husband, "What does he mean?"

"Natalia will no longer be attending her current school, she'll now be attending the institution Mr. Globa works at," Dr. Romanov explained, shooting his wife a look, he'd explain later. "Natalia, go get your coat and shoes."

Natalia ran to obey, returning to the room only a couple of minutes later. She looked up at Globa curiously as she tied her shoes, "Is this school going to be like my old one? Are we going to play games and eat snacks?"

Globa shook his head, "Some things will be the same, but others will be different. This place is for very special girls Natalia."

"Special?"

"Yes, special just like you," he said with a sly grin. "Now we must get going, we wouldn't want you to be late on your first day."

Natalia shook her head gravely and followed the man out the door.

"Have a good day," Mrs. Romanova called, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. She turned to her husband who offered no explanation but merely left the dining room for his study. Mrs. Romanova followed, determined to have her questions answered.

Natalia walked beside Mr. Globa in silence. She wanted to ask him questions, but he scared her, so she chose to remain silent. They walked for a few minutes before her curiosity got the better of her, "How far away is it?"

Mr. Globa looked down, almost surprised to find her walking beside him. "It's not very far, we'll be taking the metro soon."

Natalia nodded and they continued in silence. She had only been on the metro with her parents and it made her nervous to go down with a stranger. She didn't like the metro; it was dark and dirty and there were always too many people.

They spent ten minutes on the train before getting off and walking for another few minutes. Natalia grew more and more fearful with every step they took. She didn't know where she was exactly, and her parents had always told her to stay close so she wouldn't get lost. She spoke up, "Um… Mr. Globa? Can we maybe go home now?"

Mr. Globa turned to her, "But we're almost there! Don't you want to see your new school?"

Natalia nodded, still not completely convinced. Papa had said she had to go with this man, so she would do what he told her to.

They arrived at an old building with lots of spirals and bulbs on it. Natalia knew that buildings like this were special, she liked how they looked. Papa once told her that princesses lived in castles and houses like this. Natalia would like to be a princess… Well, really she wanted to be a ballerina. Dancing was her favorite thing to do and everyday after school she went to the ballet studio and danced.

Inside the building Mr. Globa led her away from the main floor and down into the basement. Natalia didn't like it and considered running, but he had his hand on her back and she knew she wouldn't be able to get away.

They went into another room with a table that had paper and pencils laying on it. There was another man in the room who spoke when they entered, "Thank you Globa, you're dismissed."

Globa saluted and left.

Natalia turned to watch him walk away, she wanted to follow, at least she knew him.

"Hello Natalia, my name is Ivan. Welcome to the Red Room," he said smiling menacingly at her. "Please have a seat."

Natalia climbed into the chair, it was a bit too high for her to get onto easily and her feet dangled well above the floor once she had sat down. "Red Room?" she asked. "Is that the name of this school?"

Ivan smiled, "It's really more of an academy, but yes it's called the Red Room."

Natalia nodded.

Ivan merely watched her for a few moments before speaking, "What do you know about the Red Room?"

She shrugged, "That it's a school for special girls. Like me!"

Ivan nodded, "That's correct. Today you will be taking some tests for me. Can you do that Natalia?"

She nodded vigorously, then hesitated, "What kind of tests?"

"Oh just to see what you know, some math, reading, writing, a little bit of science," Ivan said with a wave of his hand.

"What happens if I don't do good on them?" Natalia asked, her voice small.

He smiled again, "You'll return to your old school, no harm done. But we would really like you here, so you should try to do well on them. Tomorrow we'll have you do more tests, but they'll be different."

An older woman entered the room and saluted Ivan, "Sir, you asked to see me."

"Ah yes," Ivan said, gesturing the woman closer, "Svetlana, this is Natalia. Natalia, this is Svetlana. She'll be overseeing your tests today and tomorrow. If you need anything just ask her. I look forward to seeing your results."

With that Ivan left the room, leaving the woman alone with the girl.

Svetlana glared down at Natalia, "Let's begin."

* * *

_Minsk, Belarus—2007_

Natasha raced through the streets, keeping to the back alleys. She wasn't exactly inconspicuous in her black clothing covered in sewer slime, dirt, and blood. She didn't quite know where she was headed, only that she wanted to get away from the safe house she had been headed to and away from Padashoue's home as well. Coming to a stop several miles from her original location, Natasha pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and drank deeply.

Natasha hesitated for a moment before stepping out into a grungy street. She looked around before ducking into a doorway a few steps away from the alley she had been in. It was an internet café. Dropping her bag to the floor she smiled at the owners and sat to use one of the computers. Working quickly she began hacking into several satellites and government internal websites in the hopes of discovering Padashoue's location. It took nearly forty-five minutes to find the information. Then Natasha wiped the browser history and hurried out of the door, glancing quickly up and down the street she hurried away, even glancing up at the rooftops once.

She kept her head bowed as she walked down the streets, trying to keep from drawing attention to herself. It was plausible that the Red Room already had an asset in the city, ready to hunt her down. Natasha pushed on, ignoring the pain in her leg and arm as the clock she kept in her head began to count down. It turned out Padashoue owned a lavish apartment in the city; a fact which disgusted Natasha to no end. His villa wasn't enough, he needed another home to "conduct business" according to the secure server she pulled the information from, more like to entertain his many mistresses.

Natasha glanced around herself one more time before slipping down into one of the metro stations. She bumped into a man exiting the area, stealing his wallet and thus his metro pass. She swiped into the platform before dropping the wallet into a trashcan and boarding a train. The Minsk underground metro system was the only one in all of Belarus and it remained relatively small with only two lines for the entire city. Taking the metro wasn't Natasha's first choice since it severely limited her.

The train drew into the next platform. Natasha held her breath as the doors opened; she had managed to find a deserted car. Luckily, the platform remained empty and no one entered her space. Two stations later she found a bit of a crowd, there were at least enough people for her to slip off the car and out of the station without drawing attention to herself.

Out on the street again Natasha moved towards Padashoue's apartment, knowing that was where he had chosen to hide for the night.

* * *

Clint cursed as he watched the Black Widow disappear into the subway. Tapping his earpiece he radioed in to Coulson, "She's gone. She ditched into the subway after hitting an internet café. Any idea where she could have gone?"

"You lost her? Do you know what she was looking at in the café?"

Clint shook his head in frustration, "Yes, I lost her. Happy? I should have done what you said and taken care of her right away. Now she's loose in the city. And of course I don't know what she was looking at. If I did I wouldn't have called you. She received a call after taking care of her wounds and ended up dumping her phone. I don't think I'm the only one hunting the Widow anymore..."

Coulson's sigh was audible over the line, "Return to base Hawk. We'll keep monitoring any cams we can and hopefully she causes enough noise to find her again. I'll start looking to see what I can find about Padashoue and his current location. Think she'll try again?"

"If she's anything like me she won't let the job go unfinished. Especially not when it was some other assassin that caused it to go wrong."

"Alright, get back here and we'll go from there."

Clint nodded and began heading back to the safe house where Coulson was waiting.

* * *

Natasha snuck around the building in which Padashoue currently resided in his second floor apartment. His remaining security guards stood in the hall outside with two inside him. They hadn't thought to post anyone on the balcony outside the bedroom or to place a close watch on the building. The man himself was sitting alone in his bedroom.

_Too easy_ , Natasha thought to herself.

Moving to the floor above her target, she located the apartment above Padashoue's and picked the lock. Inside, it was fortunately empty. This was the first luck she'd experienced the entire mission. Slinking through the rooms she reached the balcony and quickly attached the rope and rappelling gear she had thrown into her bag. The black gloves she slipped on would protect her hands and prevent any fingerprints from remaining after her visit.

Natasha rappelled down to the balcony below, the only sound the slight whisper of her gloves on the rope. Touching down noiselessly, Natasha crept to the balcony door. Her inspection showed that it was in fact unlocked; all she had to do was open the door and take the shot before Padashoue realized she was there.

She didn't hesitate as she threw the door open and took aim at the figure sitting on the bed.

Padashoue whipped his head around at the intrusion, eyes wide with fright as he took in the red haired woman, clad in black, with the gun pointing directly at his face. She pulled the trigger and watched as he fell backwards onto the bed. Blood trickled down his forehead and out the back of his skull, staining the pale blue sheets.

Natasha turned to face the door as the guard inside of the house ran into the room, calling to his fellows outside for help. She downed him as quickly as she had Padashoue. Swiftly moving into the living room area, she found herself faced with the two other guards, both of who had taken defensive positions behind furniture and already had their guns drawn.

"Now boys," she drawled. "Didn't your boss warn you about who you were dealing with? See I'm the Black Widow and you don't stand a chance."

The younger of the two men turned to his companion, questions and fear mixed in his gaze.

"You will die here, bitch," the older one snarled before firing at Natasha.

She stepped to the side before his finger had pressed the trigger and sent her own bullets winging towards the cowering men. The older went down, two bullets embedded in his body. The younger had remained completely covered by his position.

Natasha stalked towards him, refusing to leave any witnesses. She dropped down on him from the top of the chair he hid behind, snapping his neck. Her eyes were hard and cold.

Knowing that she was running out of time, someone would have heard the shots and realized something was wrong, Natasha darted around the rooms setting the charges. She wasn't going to leave enough evidence for someone to trace where she had gone and how she had arrived. She then retreated to the balcony and retrieved her rappelling equipment. Looking at the drop below her she shrugged and took a leap off the railing, twisting and flipping through the air before landing and rolling. The explosion ripped through the air, tearing the side of the building to shreds without doing too much damage. Flames leapt out of Padashoue's apartment.

Another body slammed into Natasha before she could regain her footing and escape from the scene.

* * *

Clint had almost reached the safe house when his earpiece crackled to life again. "I found her," Coulson's brusque voice came through.

"Where?" Clint asked, frozen as he waited for directions.

"Head north towards the Crown Plaza hotel. There's an apartment building nearby that's reporting shots fired."

Clint left the rooftops he loved and headed to the streets, knowing he'd be much faster if he weren't having to parkour his way along the uneven rooftops.

* * *

Natasha shoved herself away from the new arrival, rolling to her feet and pulling her knife out of its sheath. She let her bag drop to the floor as she surveyed the girl standing across from her. A few inches taller than Natasha with dark brown hair and eyes, she didn't appear to be much of a threat. Natasha knew better. Lada Lavrov was a fellow Red Room operative.

"Lavrov," Natasha greeted coldly. "They must not think you're worth the effort to finish training since they sent you after me."

Lavrov glared, "Quite the contrary, шлюха, they think I'm the new you. So I get to kill you."  _(whore)_

Natasha laughed, a cold and humorless laugh before baring her teeth at the younger woman and raising her knife.

Lavrov pulled out her own blade and dove towards the waiting assassin.

* * *

Clint returned to the rooftops before he reached the apartment building in question. Coulson had contacted him again, about five minutes before his return to the roofs, to inform him there had been an explosion at the apartment building. Police and fire were en route.

Picking up his pace he found a vantage point on a building separated from the apartments by an alley. The flames proved that there were no survivors in the apartment. Padashoue was dead. The Black Widow had succeeded.

Scanning the surrounding area, Clint located the flash of red hair that signaled his adversary's presence. Frowning, he looked down below him and found that she wasn't alone. In fact, the Black Widow was fighting this other woman.

He watched in awe as the two women threw themselves at each other with a ferocity he'd never seen before.

* * *

Natasha ducked the swipe aimed at her head from Lavrov's knife while simultaneously sending a kick at the other woman's ribs. Lavrov rolled to lessen the blow before recovering and making an attack of her own. Natasha parried several strikes with her knife, remaining on the defensive until she saw an opening she could exploit. Lavrov was sloppy, and she was only getting sloppier as the fight dragged on.

"Run away now, while you can," Natasha taunted. She had figured out that Lavrov's inexperience made her susceptible to her own emotions.

"Why won't you just die like you're supposed to you сука?" Lavrov snarled, her eyes flashing with anger as her mouth twisted into an ugly grimace.  _(bitch)_

The next offensive Lavrov launched was sloppier than the previous ones, her annoyance at Natasha's resistance and her overconfidence in her own abilities causing her to forget the basics of her training.

Suddenly, Natasha stopped retreating. Then she began to advance as she kicked and punched at her opponent, always in motion. Natasha's superior skills and experience gave her the advantage, despite her injuries.

She stumbled when Lavrov landed a lucky hit to the bullet wound in her leg. Lavrov dove for the opening but found herself flat on her back as Natasha swung her leg around in a sweeping kick.

Natasha moved over Lavrov and glared, "They shouldn't have sent you. You never stood a chance against me. I'm the Black Widow." With that she drove her knife into the other woman's heart, twisting as she withdrew the blade.

Wiping the metal clean on the bleeding corpse of Lavrov, Natasha sheathed her knife and stalked down into the alley. She still needed to get away from the scene.

* * *

Clint didn't hesitate after watching the Black Widow kill the other woman. He slung his bow over his shoulder and scrambled down the side of the building. Using the fire escape ladders and windowsills to speed his descent. Once on the ground he nocked an arrow and drew back, within a single breath he had released the arrow.

Natasha whirled around as she heard a twang from behind her. She watched as the archer nocked another arrow. The first slammed into her shoulder and embedded itself in the brick wall behind her. She let out a hiss of pain before schooling her face into an expressionless mask.

Clint approached the pinned woman carefully, examining her critically. He still wasn't sure what to make of her. With his arrow trained on her he was able to really look at the target he had been sent to eliminate.

"Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow," he finally said. "You have a lot to answer for."

Natasha glared at him, "Bite me!" she snarled, struggling to free herself from the arrow and the wall. She winced when the pain hit her again.

"Yeah, you won't be getting out of that without help if you want to maintain the use of your right arm."

Clint's earpiece crackled as Coulson spoke to him, "Just kill her Hawkeye, then we can get out of here." Clint ignored it.

"What do you want, Hawkeye?" she asked.

"That's an interesting question," Clint replied. "See I'm not entirely sure what I want... Maybe a beer, a full night's sleep, who knows? But I know what I've been told to do. That is, I'm supposed to kill you."

"Then do it."

Clint frowned slightly, her face remained defiant, but something about her eyes made him pause.  _There, a slight glimmer of desperation. But desperation for what? Death? Salvation? And was that fear he detected as well?_

"What? Is the golden Hawkeye too weak to kill me?" she mocked. "How sweet, you're too stupid to do what you should."

And then Clint figured it out. He knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. He lowered his weapon and took a step towards her.

"Come on you coward!"

The despair in her voice gutted him.

"Kill me!"

He took another step closer. The Black Widow's mask was slipping to reveal the tired and scared girl beneath.

"TAKE THE DAMN SHOT!" she screamed.

Coulson spoke to Clint again, "Barton, neutralize the target. Complete your mission."

"No." Clint Barton's voice didn't waver as he spoke that one single word.

Back in the safe house Agent Phil Coulson grabbed his short hair in frustration as he lurched to his feet. He kicked out at the coffee table before him, cursing under his breath. "Barton, you better have a damn good reason for why you are disobeying a direct order. An order from the Council for Christ's sake. At least take her into custody," he muttered.

Clint ignored his handler, focusing on the woman in front of him who had slumped at his refusal.

Her harsh breathing was the only sound in the alley. It echoed off the walls and filled the air between them.

Natasha looked up at him, confusion and hopelessness written across her face. "Why the hell not? You said it yourself, I have a lot to answer for. I deserve to die."

Clint's head cocked to the side and there was a long pause before he spoke, "I'm going to give you a choice. Come in with me. Work for SHIELD. We take care of our own and it will help you atone for the red staining your past. Or, I kill you now and you die a murderer."

Clint flinched at the sudden increase in volume as his earpiece exploded with Coulson's voice. He ripped it out of his ear and tossed it on the ground. He didn't want to hear what Coulson had to say at the moment.

Natasha forced her breathing to slow and schooled her face back to its emotionless mask. She raised her head and smirked at Clint, "You didn't have permission to make that offer to me."

Clint shrugged, "Doesn't mean I don't mean it."

It was Natasha's turn to study the man in front of her. He seemed to have found something in her, something she couldn't figure out. And he certainly wasn't afraid. Not of her, not of anything, she would bet. The way he carried himself showed an innate strength that few possessed, yet alone were able to call upon, "I agree to come in with you and join SHIELD and just like that I'm forgiven?"

"No, but you'll be able to work towards forgiveness. Maybe you'll never earn it, I don't think I ever can. But I believe you deserve a chance to try."

She contemplated the offer in front of her, intrigued by the fearless archer who made it. She nodded once, "Then I accept."

Clint nodded and moved even closer to her. His invasion of the other assassin's space made both of them nervous, personal boundaries were rarely crossed outside of combat for the two of them. "I'm going to remove this arrow from your shoulder, then I'm going to cuff you," he told her.

Natasha nodded in agreement.

"But first, what weapons do you have on you besides the knife?" he continued.

"Gun on my back, knife inside of my thigh, and my bracelets," she answered, failing to mention the knives stowed inside her boots.

Clint nodded, "I assume that isn't all of them. Just remember, you're injured and I can shoot my bow faster than you could attack me." Clint then located the weapons she had revealed and removed them.

Natasha appreciated that he didn't take the opportunity to grope her.

Clint then went to work getting the arrow out of Natasha's shoulder. He examined the head where it was embedded in the wall and realized it was too deep to cut out. He had managed to drive it deep into the mortar between the bricks. It was wedged too tightly to simply pull it out.

He turned to Natasha, "This is going to hurt. I have to break the shaft then we'll pull you off of the remaining part."

Without a word she nodded. It couldn't be any worse than the pain she'd experienced at the hands of the Red Room.

Clint held back his discomfort as he watched the Widow's expression become even colder when she gave her acquiescence to his plan. He gripped the part of the arrow protruding from her shoulder with both hands and snapped the shaft.

Natasha's mouth tightened infinitesimally as the movement sent a wave of pain racing through her body. The adrenaline was wearing off and she could feel her body protesting. No one would have noticed the slight change, no one except the archer who was standing beside her, watching for any reaction.

"Okay," Clint said. "Go ahead and take a couple steps forward. At least go as far as you can without being in too much pain."

With gritted teeth Natasha pulled her shoulder forward as she did as he had said. The excruciating pain nearly caused her to stop. A few steps and seconds later her shoulder was free, arm hanging limply at her side. She pressed her left hand against her shoulder in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

"I'm not going to cuff you, you can't use one arm as it is," Clint remarked. He turned to look at her bag, "Do you still have bandages and medical supplies in there?"

She nodded and he scooped up the duffle and his earpiece. He turned to face her again and gestured that she follow him. Natasha didn't protest, knowing that with her injured shoulder and leg she risked death if she attempted to escape. By now her survival instinct had overridden her desire to die. The two assassins slipped through the back streets of Minsk moving away from the scene of the disaster.

Natasha frowned when Clint led them into one of the metro stations. Surely he knew they were limited in the tunnels. She was even more confused when he opened the men's bathroom door and gestured for her to enter. Inside he checked that they were alone before locking the main door.

"Sit on the counter. I need to get a look at your injuries," he commanded.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. You've been heavily favoring that leg for the last ten minutes and your shoulder is still bleeding steadily. I know you've been in multiple fights in the last day."

Her glare intensified.

"Either you let me look at your injuries, or I cuff you now and force you to let me look at them."

Natasha waited a long moment before moving to sit on the counter between the two sinks. He was right, loathe though she was to admit it, she did need medical attention.

The duffle bag landed next to her with a thump, dangling precariously over the edge of the sink. Clint began digging through it, giving a low whistle in appreciation when he withdrew one of Natasha's favorite knives from the bag. He placed the deadly weapon to the side and continued until he withdrew the gauze and bandaging remaining in the bag along with the few other medical supplies she had. Pulling out a small towel and a shirt he moved away from the bag.

Looking down at the bottle of rubbing alcohol in his hand, he faced his patient. "We need to clean that shoulder wound, my arrows aren't the cleanest objects in the world. Take off your shirt so I can see it."

Natasha moved to extract herself from the piece of fabric, struggling slightly with her dead weight arm. Clint didn't move to help her, nor did he do more than glance at her exposed torso before turning to her shoulder.

The wound continued to bleed, though the blood had slowed more than Clint thought it had. Clint dumped copious amounts of the rubbing alcohol onto the towel in his hands, nodding once at the woman sitting in front of him before he pressed onto the wound. The blood immediately stained the towel red and Natasha hissed in pain.

After cleaning the front of the wound as best he could, he trained his attention on the back, where he repeated the process. This time, the only sign that betrayed the pain Natasha felt was that her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the counter.

"You're lucky, it doesn't appear that the arrow hit anything important, just muscle."

"So? Do you want an award for not crippling me when you shot me?" she snarled.

Clint chuckled, it appeared the Widow had more to her than cold detachment from the world. He rinsed his hands in the sink to clean off the alcohol and blood on them. He then prepared gauze packing for the hole and began packing it on. Wrapping layers of bandaging around her should, Clint created a sling to immobilize the limb.

Natasha started to protest the immobilization until he raised an eyebrow, causing her to remain silent. This man was her only chance of survival at the moment, the best thing she could do would be to follow his directions and cater to his wishes.

Next, he turned to examine the bullet hole in her thigh.

"I watched you dig out the bullet," he remarked. "Did you know?"

Natasha shook her head as he peeled back the edge of the bandage slightly.

"It looks like it's stopped bleeding. Be honest, do we need to worry about it right now?"

Natasha shrugged, "I've had worse. And I'll either be dead or receiving medical attention in the next twenty-four hours so I'm not worried."

Clint nodded. "And your left arm?"

"Just a graze."

"What about your ribs?" he gestured towards her torso. "I don't like the look of that bruising..."

"It's fine. I'll be mostly healed in the next couple of days."

Clint frowned, he didn't understand how she could be healed so quickly. The dark red and purple splotches across her body were not something someone could just recover from in a matter of days. However, he knew that he was unlikely to get permission to do any more to help her at the moment.

He turned away and tossed her the new shirt while he repacked the duffel and cleaned up the mess.

Natasha slipped the shirt on as best she could, trying not to jostle her arm too much. He hadn't given her any painkillers so she still hurt, although the risk of infection or bleeding out had lessened.

Clint tapped his earpiece to turn it on as he moved away from Natasha. "Hey, I've got the target in custody. I'm bringing her in now as an asset."

"Barton, I can't help you here. The Council's pissed. I had to call in when you stopped responding and decided to take matters into your own hands," Coulson told his agent.

"I don't need you too," Clint replied. "I just need you to trust me enough to get a meeting with Fury."

"Oh, you have a meeting with Fury as soon as we return to base."

"She needs to be there."

There was a long pause, "I can't promise that. I'll do what I can to make sure she doesn't get shot on sight. Eventually Fury will want to talk to her, but it may not be to offer her a job. You really fucked this one up."

Clint shrugged, "I know. And I'm not asking for you to go down with me if this goes pear shaped."

Coulson's sigh echoed across the line, "I know kid, but I'm going to anyway. I'll meet you at the jet. The scene at Padashoue's apartment has drawn a lot of unwanted attention to us."

"Understood, see you there."

Natasha was studying Clint when he turned to face her again.

"You're in trouble because you didn't kill me." It wasn't a question. It was an observation that he didn't bother trying to deny. There was no point.

"Put these on," he commanded, tossing her a pair of handcuffs he pulled out of the cargo pants he wore.

She did so without complaint, locking her hands in front of herself. Clint walked towards her and checked they were tight as he grabbed the duffle bag.

"You know these aren't going to be enough to stop me from escaping," she remarked, holding up her hands as she followed him from the bathroom.

"I know. But like I said before, I'm more than a match for you right now and we both know it. Consider it a test that you keep those on until someone lets you take them off."

The two assassins traipsed out of the bathroom and back through the empty metro station. They returned to the street where Clint found an average looking car. He quickly jimmied the driver's door lock and unlocked the other doors. "Get in."

Natasha walked around to the other side and slid into the seat, relieved that they weren't going to be walking much more. Her leg was throbbing.

Clint broke open the dashboard beneath the steering wheel, using a small pocketknife he'd withdrawn from his pants. Within a minute he had gotten the car to start and placed himself in the driver's seat.

"Make a habit of stealing cars?" Natasha asked, trying to get a rise out of the man. She knew the little bit of his personality she'd seen had been only what he allowed to slip through. It was time to see who this man really was.

"Only when transporting deadly assassins I'm supposed to have killed," he responded without missing a beat.

The rest of the drive passed in a tense silence between the two killers. Neither relaxed nor attempted to kill the other, it was the best they could hope for in the uneasy truce they had developed. Natasha paid attention to the route they took out of the city towards a nearby private airfield. She didn't think she'd be needing to find the location again, but by now tracking her route had become natural.

Clint parked the car next to the black SUV already present. Natasha raised an eyebrow at the other vehicle, judging the cliché they had parked beside. A SHIELD jet sat on the runway with its hanger door open.

The two assassins climbed out of their vehicle and approached the man waiting for them.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for reading, please take the time to review if you liked it, hated it, have questions, any review makes me happy.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter:
> 
> "Something funny?" Phil asked in annoyance. He couldn't see any reason his agent would be smiling.
> 
> Clint shrugged, "We're about to watch Nick Fury vs. the Black Widow. It's bound to be entertaining."


	3. Chapter Three

_Moscow, Russia—1993_

Natalia skipped down the sidewalk towards the hospital where her mama and papa were waiting for her to arrive. Her escort to the Red Room that day had left her at the end of the metro ride and allowed her to walk on her own. Most six-year olds weren't allowed to be out in the city alone, but Natalia was special. That's why she had been going to the Red Room instead of regular school for the last three months. She did regular school stuff for half the day then spent the other half learning other languages or doing training. Sometimes they even let her dance! And when she couldn't dance at school, her mama still took her to dance after school.

Today she was going to the hospital because the doctors were worried about Mama and the baby. They said that until the baby got here Mama wasn't allowed to do anything too hard and should stay in bed all day. Papa had made Natalia promise to be very helpful around the house until Mama wasn't sick anymore.

Natalia couldn't wait to see her baby brother (or sister as Mama kept reminding her). She could tell it all about her day and play with it and when Mama and Papa were busy they could do the chores together.

The hospital was a plain red brick building. And it said hospital on it in big letters. Natalia was very good at reading, the Red Room had even told her she was good. Every night she had to sit down and read something to her Mama and Papa.

Natalia was walking up the steps of the hospital when the alarms started blaring. She froze for a second at the loud noise but then decided to keep going. She needed to get to her Mama and Papa and then she'd be safe.

A bunch of strangers ran out of the building, almost running Natalia over. She screamed as someone grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away from the doors.

"You can't go in there," the person said. "There's a fire and it's spreading fast. We could already see the smoke."

Natalia continued to scream for her Mama and Papa as the stranger held onto her, refusing to let her go. Natalia could see the smoke rising from building now and smell the harsh scent of burning wood.

Soon the entire building was engulfed in flames and people weren't leaving the building anymore. Natalia still hadn't found her parents. People all around her were crying, and Natalia continued to call for her parents. The stranger pulled her farther away from the fire when the flames began to leap out of windows and their current position became too hot to remain in.

The firemen showed up later, but there was nothing they could save. Natalia cried harder, terrified. She didn't pay much attention to what was happening around her, so she didn't immediately notice the man who walked up to her.

"Natalia," he said.

The stranger holding her looked at the man, "Do you know her?"

The man nodded, "I do. I'm a friend of the family. I was just coming to visit when I saw this terrible scene. Thank you for saving her, let me take her from you."

Natalia calmed down a bit when she realized it was Ivan. He would help her get to her parents.

The stranger looked at Natalia, "Do you know this man? Are you okay going with him?"

Natalia nodded, "That's Ivan."

The stranger handed her over to the man with a shrug and turned back to watch the flames.

"Ivan, my Mama and Papa were in there," she sobbed into his neck.

He turned and walked away from the carnage, not replying to the girl in his arms. She kept her face buried, so she didn't notice the satisfied smirk on his face.

* * *

_Minsk, Belarus—2007_

Phil Coulson liked rules. He liked protocols. And he especially liked it when his agent followed them. Admittedly, that only happened on rare occasions. Agent Clint Barton disliked rules and often chose to make it up as he went along. If that meant throwing the handbook out the window, he was more than willing to do so.

Phil had gotten good at putting out the fires Clint's deviations from protocol tended to create. And he couldn't completely blame the agent for his disregard of them, he had bent the rules quite a bit to get Clint into SHIELD. Phil had come to expect at least one breach of protocol on each mission.

But he had never had to deal with a problem this big. As soon as Clint had asked for more information on the Black Widow he knew something was wrong. This should have been an easy mission. Clint didn't question orders to kill people, not when he'd been handed a file filled with every despicable thing the target had ever done. Clint'd hated others for less than what they knew the Black Widow was responsible for, let alone the things she was suspected of.

Phil had trusted his agent though, given him the information he wanted, and reminded him that he had an order from the Council—not just SHIELD or Fury—to neutralize the target.

Then Clint had mentioned that the Widow could be an asset. That's when Phil realized the shit was about to hit the fan. He tried to keep Clint on track, but as he knew from experience, once Clint had an idea contrary to what his superiors were saying he tended to run with it.

When he heard his agent offer a job to the Widow, he knew they were well and truly fucked. He couldn't keep this breach of protocol away from Fury any longer. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe Clint would respond so he didn't have to make the call. He hoped that Clint would finish the mission. He hoped in vain.

Having to call your boss and tell them that your agent had decided not to kill the infamous and deadly Black Widow, but rather wanted to bring her in to the agency is not pleasant. Especially not when your boss is a trench coat wearing, one-eyed, six foot tall, African American who did not appreciate insubordination. Luckily, Fury was nothing if not loyal to the agent who'd proved himself worthy of the title countless times over the past three years. Fury had agreed to persuade the Council to allow Clint to bring her in, but he made no promises beyond that.

There would be hell to pay once they returned to SHIELD. Phil would be more than happy to pay the price, but he couldn't. Not this time anyway.

It was killing Phil as he sat in the safe house waiting for his agent to call him or return. When Clint did radio in, Phil was relieved to know his agent hadn't been murdered by the Black Widow. But that relief morphed into anger almost immediately when he learned that the Widow was alive and with his agent.

Throwing himself into the SUV they had parked around the corner from the safe house, he rushed towards the airfield where their plane was. The pilot should have things ready by the time he arrived.

Now, now he stood waiting at the foot of the jet. His agent hadn't arrived yet. It was taking too long. It wasn't taking long enough. Phil Coulson wasn't a fidgeter, yet he couldn't stop himself. Clint was a younger brother to him, his best friend, and knowing that he might lose that because of this stupid decision was terrifying. Clint was risking everything for this woman who could very easily turn on all of them. Phil didn't understand it.

For the first time since he'd brought Clint in to SHIELD, Phil found himself questioning Clint's decisions. He had never before doubted that he trusted his agent in and out of the field. Until now. And it was all the Widow's fault. What had she done to Clint?

Watching the road to the airstrip closely, he tensed when another vehicle rounded the corner and accelerated towards him. He recognized Clint driving as he pulled to a stop next to the SUV before pulling himself out of the car. A few seconds later she appeared.

Phil couldn't deny it, the Black Widow was a looker—all pale, flawless skin and red hair with curves that seemed to go on for miles. She was injured, judging by the bandaging he could see on her shoulder and arm. If it weren't for the contrast between the bandages and her black clothing, he probably wouldn't have noticed. She approached him a step or two behind Clint without betraying any signs of weakness. He was glad to see she was in fact handcuffed, even if he doubted they would do much to contain her.

"Barton," he greeted the other man curtly before turning to the Widow. "Miss Romanoff."

She nodded in response, her cold eyes boring into his. He looked away first to gesture to the bag Clint carried. "That her's?"

"It is."

"Search her," he commanded as he took the bag from Clint's hand.

Clint turned to Natasha and with an apologetic shrug gestured for her to turn away from him. The pat down Natasha received from him was the most clinical one she'd ever received before. Natasha appreciated that he didn't use the occasion as time to cop a feel. She scolded herself internally for being surprised, hadn't he been a gentleman to her the entire time they'd been together?

He quickly found the knives stored in her boots and withdrew them, handing them to Coulson who stood a few feet away watching impassively. "She's clean," he said, turning away.

Phil led the way onto the jet, calling to the pilot that they were ready. Natasha and Clint followed behind him. Natasha gave the other assassin a questioning look. He simply shook his head in reply, an exchange that did not go unnoticed by Phil.

What had happened in the last few hours that would allow the two of them to communicate without words so easily? Phil wondered.

The flight passed mostly in silence, broken only by Clint.

"I assume you called Fury?"

Phil nodded once, "He'll be waiting to speak to you when we land."

The three returned to silence. Natasha had to fight back the urge to question the men she sat with. Barton continued to stare out the window while the other one—Barton's handler, they hadn't exactly been introduced—studied Natasha. She returned his gaze until he pulled out a file from the bag beside him. Then she moved to stare out the window as well.

Both men whipped around to look at Natasha when she rose, about three hours into the flight. "Bathroom," she muttered, moving towards the back of the plane. "You're welcome to escort me if you really feel the need."

Clint returned to looking outside while Phil kept his eyes trained on the assassin until she returned to her seat. Natasha nearly asked them to uncuff her to make this easier, but decided it wasn't worth the hassle. If she really needed to she could slip the cuffs off.

Around hour eight Clint decided to watch Natasha. Phil watched the resulting interaction thoughtfully. The handler in him realizing that the two of them would make a great team. Too bad she was evil and his agent was probably about to be arrested.

Natasha turned to glare at the man eventually. His responding smirk causing her to quirk an eyebrow. It was Clint's turn to glare, eliciting a smug look from Natasha.

Phil frowned, it was almost as though they were challenging each other. He sighed softly, neither assassin sparing him a glance. He had been a field agent before he'd become Clint's handler, but he'd never been an assassin or truly covert operative like the two people in front of him. It was easy to forget the eccentricities that accompanied those types of people when just dealing with Clint, now he was reminded that he didn't completely understand his agent and that he likely never would. But this woman did.

Could she really even be called a woman? he wondered. She didn't look like she was even of legal drinking age in the US. God the whole situation was fucked up. Why couldn't Clint just do what needed to be done?

Finally the awkward flight drew to a close as the pilot announced their descent. Phil closed the file on his lap and Clint turned to face him. The two men had barely looked at each other for the duration of the flight.

"Miss Romanoff, you will be escorted to an interrogation room upon our landing. Do not resist. The agents escorting you will have been given permission to shoot at the slightest sign of resistance," Phil instructed. "And you, Barton, will be reporting immediately to the Director's office."

Clint nodded then looked at Natasha. Whatever he was thinking she seemed to understand. They disembarked the plane, moving outside without looking at each other.

"Miss Romanoff," a young woman called with dark hair. She held herself impeccably straight as she approached. "You will be coming with me and these agents. Barton, Coulson, he's waiting for you."

Coulson, Natasha filed away the information for later and followed the nameless woman. These SHIELD agents were very bad at introducing themselves.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, Unknown Location—2007_

It probably wouldn't be considered a good thing that Clint knew the Director's office as well as he knew his own room. The gray walls had remained bare, the desk had never moved from its position in the center of the room, the filing cabinets had doubled from two to four in the last three years, and the plaque on the back wall with the SHIELD logo emblazoned on it still covered the world's most secure safe. Most importantly, the man behind the desk hadn't changed.

Clint stood next to Phil at attention in front of the one and only Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD for as long as anyone could remember. This wasn't the first time he'd been in this position, in front of the boss for disobeying orders or protocol or whatever, but this time was certainly the worst. He fought the urge to fidget under the single-eyed intense gaze.

"Agent Barton, to say the Council is pissed is a gross understatement," Fury began. "You disobeyed a direct order from them and now we have a highly skilled enemy sitting in our base. The only reason you weren't arrested the moment you set foot on the base is because Coulson vouched for you. So you had better have a damn good reason why the Black Widow isn't dead."

Clint drew in a deep breath before speaking, "I can't explain why I didn't kill. I'm not sure I even understand."

"What do you mean you can't explain?" Fury barked. "Maybe you don't understand, it isn't just your job on the line. You could easily be branded a traitor and have a kill order issued on you. Or we'll lock you up for the rest of your life. So you had better explain."

"Let me finish before you start lecturing me. I know exactly what is at stake here. I saw an opportunity to bring in a valuable asset to SHIELD and I took it. I understand that the blame for this if it backfires will go to me. But what if it doesn't? Can SHIELD afford to  _not_  offer her a chance?"

Clint shook his head, "I know that I'm just supposed to follow the orders I'm given. Don't think that I disobeyed on a whim. But when I joined SHIELD it was in part because I was promised that I never had to pull the trigger if I didn't think the target deserved death. Yes, the Widow has a lot to answer for, but so do I. SHIELD gave me the chance to make things right, why can't the same principle apply to her?"

"Barton," Phil said softly. "When I asked to recruit you I had proof that you felt remorse, that you were still human. We haven't seen that with her at all. She's evil."

"I don't think she is. Think about it, what do we really know about her? She was trained by the Russians in the rumored 'Red Room' for a while. We don't know how long. Six years ago she started making kills but it appears she was still in training. Three years ago she was released on the world, fully trained. And it's only the last eighteen months or so that her kills have become more common and more violent. Something changed. I watched her fight another Russian, I saw her get disavowed. She could have killed the other assassin easily, but she didn't. The Black Widow gave the girl a chance to escape," Clint paused to take a deep breath.

"She can't be more than twenty years old. The fact that she agreed to come in with me, she didn't fight the cuffs or the less than cordial reception, that's your proof that there's a chance. Go talk to her, and if I'm wrong I'll kill her myself. But I know she isn't as evil as you want to think. If she's spent her entire life learning how to be a killer and killing, how can we expect her to know better? She'll be a good asset. I know it."

Fury bowed his head, "Barton, it isn't you who makes the decision to bring her in. You disobeyed an order and you didn't even try to get permission to change your orders. This would be going very differently had you attempted to get authorization. Instead, we're here. I plan on speaking with Miss Romanoff. But I don't know if I can protect you. The Council wants to speak to you in an hour. Until then you will watch my conversation with the Black Widow under the supervision of Agent Coulson."

Fury stood, and with the agents following him, headed towards the interrogation room where the Black Widow sat waiting.

* * *

Natasha had been led into the facility by the dark haired woman, surrounded by a dozen agents, each with a gun trained on her. She could probably have taken them all out but she would have certainly risked injury. Besides, what was the point? SHIELD was her only chance for survival. And if what Barton had said was true, it was also a chance for redemption. Natasha had truly believed that she would die as she faced down the shaft of Barton's arrow. She had felt relief when that realization occurred to her. It would finally be over, all of the suffering and pain and red. So much red… Her only regret was that all her life would ever amount to was a number: the number of people she had slaughtered. At least she would be free when he released his arrow.

Then he hadn't. For some reason he'd spared her. She'd tried goading him into killing her to no avail. He offered her a job, promised a chance for redemption. How had he known that was what she wanted? She hadn't even known.

Natasha was many things; dumb was not one. Of course she knew that Barton had put his job and life on the line for her. She couldn't remember a time when anyone had chosen to help her when given the choice between that and themselves, let alone a time when a complete stranger who actually had orders to kill her did. Despite the temptation to make a run for it now that they were at SHIELD and away from the Red Room, she forced herself to stay. She owed that man her life and she wouldn't sell him out.

The interrogation room they placed Natasha in was much darker than she expected. The dim lighting combined with the black walls created a heavy atmosphere. Not grim, just heavy, Natasha mused. Most interrogation rooms had harsh, bright lights that reflected off of virtually every surface.

The agent escorting her gave her a pointed look until she took a seat at the table in the center of the room, facing the two-way mirror.

Natasha examined the room with an air of disinterested boredom. She wondered why they hadn't bothered restraining her further; SHIELD couldn't be so stupid as to believe the handcuffs would hold her.

* * *

Clint and Phil followed Fury through the halls. The two received curious looks from everyone they passed. It was clear to Clint that everyone knew he had done the unthinkable and brought home a target. Most SHIELD agents tended to avoid Clint already, he knew there would be even more tension now.

Fury led the way into the observation room for the interrogation room Natasha had been placed in. The three men watched the woman for a few moments in silence. Aside from the slight narrowing of her eyes when they first arrayed themselves in front of the mirror, the woman didn't move. Coulson nearly shivered, he knew that it was impossible to see through the mirror to the other side without the lights on in the observation room, but it appeared that Natasha Romanoff could sense their presence. The way she focused all of her attention on the mirror made him nervous.

"Barton," Fury said as softly as the man was ever able to speak. "Are you sure about this? Sure about her?"

Clint nodded, "Yes."

Fury turned and swept out of the room, his long coat billowing behind him.

Clint smirked when he watched the door to the interrogation room open a second after Natasha had swiveled her head to face it.

"Something funny?" Phil asked in annoyance. He couldn't see any reason his agent would be smiling.

Clint shrugged, "We're about to watch Nick Fury vs. the Black Widow. It's bound to be entertaining."

Phil shook his head, exasperated by the younger man's inability to take anything seriously for long.

* * *

Natasha focused on the mirror when she felt that someone was watching her. Sure there was a camera recording everything, but she knew someone had entered the observation room hidden behind the mirror. She had to admit, SHIELD was good. It was impossible to see anything through the mirror. She'd been in interrogation rooms where she could usually at least make out shapes through the glass.

She drew her attention to the door when she heard someone outside of it, masking her surprise when it opened and a man walked in. She had been expecting another suit like Agent Coulson, not a large African American man in a trench coat and eye patch. Her surprise didn't show as the man took the seat across from her. He placed a file on the table between them before leaning back in his seat casually.

After a few minutes of silence he spoke, "Do you know who I am?"

Natasha shrugged, "I'm guessing you're the elusive Director of SHIELD. Fury, I think I heard someone call you? I know people who would pay any price to get information on who you are."

"Did Hill tell you I'd be coming?" he asked, confirming her guess.

"Hill? The agent who escorted me here? No. Although I will say your agents are very bad at introducing themselves. Everyone seems to know who I am but I know nothing about them, puts me at a disadvantage," Natasha drawled.

Fury shifted so he was sitting forward. He opened the file and spun it around so Natasha could read it. "This is every piece of information we have on you, the infamous Black Widow."

Natasha raised her cuffed hands from her lap and began turning the pages slowly. Fury raised an eyebrow in question at the cuffs.

"Yes, they're quite annoying. And I know you know I could escape from them easily. Consider this proof of my sincerity that I haven't done so."

Fury didn't respond to her comment, "That file is severely lacking in many areas. Until today we didn't even have a picture of you. But what that file does contain is information on every single confirmed kill made by you. I gave that file to Agent Barton before he was sent to neutralize you. He's killed others with less reason than what we have on you. So tell me, why did he spare you?"

Natasha met the man's gaze firmly, "I don't know. You'd have to ask him. What I know is that he had me. He could have killed me, hell I begged him to. Instead he offered me a job, a way to atone for my sins. I wasn't going to turn that down. Even if you kill me it's still better than what I have to look forward to if I go back to the Red Room."

"You know Barton wasn't authorized to make that offer?"

"I do."

"But you still accepted it?"

"Yes."

"Tell me Miss Romanoff, why would someone like you take that offer and actually stick to it. From what I can tell you've had numerous opportunities to escape, yet you didn't take advantage of any of them. Why not run and return to your employers?"

Natasha leaned forward, "Am I right in assuming that Barton is standing behind the other side of that mirror? And his handler? Coulson, right?"

Fury's lack of response seemed to confirm her guess.

"Maybe he didn't know before he offered me the job, but my 'employers' as you called them, disavowed me when I failed to eliminate Padashoue and Barton immediately. That woman he saw me fight and kill, she was another Red Room recruit sent to kill me. I have no loyalty to them. Maybe I did once. But not anymore."

Natasha met Fury's appraising look unflinchingly after her statement.

"If we were to bring you in as an agent, would you give us information on your former employers?" he asked.

"I would. Though I can't guarantee I have any information that would be useful to you.

"So you'll give us information and you say you want to be here, but why should we trust you? For all I know, you're here on behalf of the Red Room to acquire information on SHIELD. How can we trust you?"

"All I can give you is my word that I no longer work for the Red Room. I told you I've been disavowed. I'm not saying you should trust me without proof, but I don't have that proof for you. The only way you're going to know is by trusting me. I haven't resisted or escaped, and not because I couldn't, but as a sign of good faith."

"What can you offer us if we give you a job?"

Natasha smirked, she knew now that he would at least give her a chance to prove herself, "As we already discussed: information. A very skilled and effective agent. And loyalty, I repay my debts."

Fury stood and closed the file. He moved to stand in front of the mirror, his back turned to her with hands clasped behind him, "I can't give you a position right now."

Natasha nodded, "Let me guess, your Council hasn't lifted the kill order on me."

"If we do hire you," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "You will enter as a probationary agent and be put into basic training. You will complete different exams and evaluations to determine your intelligence and proficiency as well as your mental health. Once cleared for fieldwork, you will be partnered with Agent Barton. Agent Coulson will serve as your handler."

Natasha shook her head, "I work alone."

Fury turned to face her, "Not here. You want a job, those are the terms."

There was a moment of silence while Natasha considered the offer. "Okay," she said firmly.

Fury picked up the file and left the room suddenly.

Natasha sat back in her seat; she could do nothing but wait now.

* * *

Clint found himself impressed by the Russian assassin's composure when facing Nick Fury. That man was nothing if not intimidating. Clint and Phil had watched in silence until Fury informed her of terms for being hired.

Clint jerked to face the ever-impassive man standing beside him, "Partner? I'm a solo distance operative. She's an up close spy. I won't work with her."

Phil rounded on the younger man, "You don't get a choice. In fact, you made your choice when you didn't kill her. Now we all get to deal with the fallout."

Clint fought to control his anger as the door opened and Fury beckoned for them to follow. He knew Phil was right, but it didn't mean he liked it.

The trio reached the main operations room of the base and was joined by Maria Hill. The disgusted glare she leveled at Clint showed him exactly what she thought of his decision.

"The Council is ready," she told Fury.

He nodded, "Please escort Romanoff to medical."

"Sir?" Hill questioned. "She's a—"

"—potential asset. It won't hurt us to provide her with medical care."

Hill's mouth tightened as she turned and stalked away.

Fury led the way into the blacked out briefing room where the Council's videoconference had been set up.

A sense of dread settled upon Clint as he entered the room. He always hated talking to the Council and it seemed the feeling was mutual. Clint had no doubts this meeting would be the least pleasant he'd ever had. The dark and pitying looks Fury and Phil gave him were not reassuring.

Darkness settled over the room like a thick blanket, the only source of light was the massive screen on one end of a table. Fury flicked a switch once the door had closed to illuminate the table. Clint had always like that the SHIELD briefing room tables sometimes had lights installed in them. It made everything look even more epic.

The screen flashed and suddenly there were five faces staring out at the room.

"Director Fury, Agent Coulson, Agent Barton," the woman in the middle greeted them with a crisp British accent.

"Good afternoon," Phil said pleasantly. Of the three men in the room he got on best with the Council. He certainly didn't like them but he didn't defy them as often as Clint and Fury did.

"Where is the Black Widow?" the woman asked.

Fury stepped forward, "Councilwoman Beaufort, the Widow is in custody. She does not currently pose a threat to anyone at SHIELD."

"You'll excuse us for not being reassured," the man on the far left of the screen interjected. "The Black Widow poses a threat to everyone simply by existing. She must be eliminated. Those were the orders we issued."

"I understand those were your orders," Fury interjected, his one eye swiveling to scowl at the man. "But I want to know why your orders didn't involve recruiting her if she turned out to be willing."

"The Black Widow is a mass murderer, she's uncontrollable," the woman immediately to right of Beaufort spoke, her Russian accent thick.

"And she's agreed to work for us if offered the chance. She hasn't resisted or caused any trouble the entire time she's been in custody," Fury retorted. "I actually had a question for you Councilwoman Moryakov. The Widow was very forthcoming about information on her former employers, apparently a top secret Russian facility?"

The Councilwoman blanched slightly, "I can assure you that the Russian government has not had contact with the Widow. She is not an agent or asset of ours and never has been."

Fury nodded, "Well then, since no one here can claim her as an asset that means she isn't bound by SHIELD's rules. She isn't an agent."

"Regardless of the Widow's affiliation, we are here to discuss what will be done with her. And to discuss Agent Barton's disobedience," Beaufort called, bringing the group back on topic. "Councilman Pierce is right, the Widow is a threat. She must be eliminated."

Clint stepped up next to Fury, ignoring the looks the two other men gave him. "You want to know why I defied your orders?" he asked. "When I received this job I had no qualms about killing her. Then I watched her dodge one of my arrows and it made me think, 'she'd make a damn good asset.' So I stayed on her and watched her until I had another chance to make a clean kill. You know what I saw? A young woman, barely out of her teens fighting for her life. Why wouldn't we want her on our side?"

"You do not make that call Agent Barton!" Pierce snapped.

Fury shook his head, "You're usually correct. However, it looks to me like my agent did your job as well as his. He brought in a willing and capable asset. You should have been the ones telling him to attempt recruiting her before taking the shot."

The outright anger showed on several of the Council member's faces.

"It's done, the Black Widow has been brought in as a potential asset and now we have to deal with that," another man spoke. "However, Agent Barton cannot go without facing consequences for his actions—"

"I agree with Councilman Chevalier," Moryakov interrupted. "Agent Barton should be removed from this agency and arrested."

"Agent Barton will face the consequences of his actions," Fury responded. "As far as I'm aware Agent Barton falls under my jurisdiction, therefore I determine his punishment."

Chevalier nodded, "I agree. We trust that his punishment will be appropriate. As to the Black Widow, you said she is willing to join SHIELD?"

"She is."

The Council members appeared to glance at each other before Beaufort spoke again, "If we lift the kill order and she's accepted into SHIELD, what then?"

"She'd be entered into basic training as a probationary agent. Upon completion she would be partnered with Agent Barton, part of his punishment. He would be held responsible for her actions. Eventually, she'll have proven her loyalty or shown herself a traitor. Either way, we win. At the first sign of betrayal we will eliminate her," Fury responded.

Beaufort looked at the other members again, "Are we in agreement to give the Black Widow a chance based on the recommendations of Director Fury and Agent Barton? Please state your vote."

"Yes," said Chevalier.

"Yes," said the other man who had remained silent to this point.

"No," said Pierce.

"No," said Moryakov.

Beaufort paused before speaking, "Yes. The Black Widow is no longer under a kill order from the Council. You may bring her in to SHIELD, but know that not only will Agent Barton be held responsible should anything go wrong, so will you Director."

"Understood," he responded.

The screen went blank as the Council disconnected their call.

Phil released a sigh, "I expected that to go worse."

"They weren't nearly as obstinate as they usually are. Romanoff needs to watch her back when dealing with them," Fury responded.

"Now, Barton, we have the matter of your punishment to discuss," he continued. "You already know that I intend to partner you with Agent Romanoff. However, until she is deemed fit for fieldwork, you will remain on base and on probation. During your time here you will assist in training recruits, and you will answer to Hill and Coulson if they require your assistance with anything."

Clint nodded, "I understand, sir."

Fury looked to Phil, "Coulson, while Barton is confined to base I want you running some ops for me. You'll also help oversee Romanoff's training much as you oversaw Barton's."

"Yes, sir," Phil replied.

"Coulson you're dismissed, Barton come with me. You get to give Romanoff a tour and introduce her to basic training. I have the paperwork in my office. Also, you can show her to her room."

"Where will she be staying?" Clint asked as he followed the man out of the room, Phil leaving them with a pointed look at his agent.

"In one of the bunkrooms with the other recruits. Same as you did."

"Yeah, that's all well and good, but are you really putting the Black Widow in a room with a bunch of recruits?"

"Do not test me, Barton, you're already on thin ice."

* * *

Not long after Fury's departure from the interrogation room, Natasha found herself in the presence of Agent Hill again.

"Follow me," Hill commanded.

Natasha rose, "Where are we going?"

"Medical." Hill's tone made it clear that she didn't approve of giving medical treatment to a target.

Natasha followed with a shrug, she wasn't going to protest leaving the room. Either they trusted her or were foolish, since there were no guards escorting the two women as they moved to the medical bay of the base. Natasha focused on where they were within the base, trying to get a mental map of the facility in case she needed to escape. Granted, it was a bit late to be thinking about escape.

"Dr. Sanders," Hill called as they entered the room.

Natasha looked around, hiding her disgust. She had spent far too much time in rooms like this while in the Red Room to enjoy being in an infirmary. This appeared to be a generic treatment room. Several beds lined one wall, each with privacy curtains hanging next to them. None were drawn. Two nurses sat at their desks gossiping. They glanced up when the women entered but returned to their conversation upon realizing they weren't needing.

A tall man stood up from a desk and walked over to Hill, "Something I can help you with Agent Hill?"

She pointed to Natasha, "This is Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Fury's ordered for her to receive medical treatment."

Dr. Sanders approached Natasha, he held out his hand for her to shake, "I'm Dr. Matt Sanders. Please just call me Matt. Looks like your shoulder's pretty beat up."

Natasha shrugged as she moved to take his offered hand, the action strange due to her handcuffs. He frowned when he noticed the offending pieces of metal around her wrists.

"Have a seat over there," he commanded, pointing to the wall of beds. Natasha chose the one at the end of the row, farthest from the nurses. Dr. Sanders moved to grab gloves, antiseptics, and bandages before returning to Natasha's side.

"Agent Hill, do you have somewhere else to be?" he asked. "I'm sure Miss Romanoff doesn't need you hovering around her."

Hill glared, "I'm staying until I've been told she isn't a target on the Council's list."

Dr. Sanders shrugged, "Suit yourself. Now Miss Romanoff, would you care to tell me what injuries you've sustained and when?"

"Arrow to the shoulder, bullet to the leg, and another bullet crease on my other arm," Natasha recited dutifully. She didn't disclose the numerous cuts and bruises littering her body, hoping he would ignore them and let her heal in peace. She hated doctors.

Sanders began pulling the bandages from her shoulder, "Arrow you said?"

She nodded, gritting her teeth to keep from showing the discomfort of having the bandages removed.

"Wouldn't happen to be from our resident archer now would it?"

"Something tells me he's a bit infamous around here," Natasha responded impassively.

Sanders chuckled, "You could say that. Kid's in and out of the infirmary more than he should be. Now when did this happen?"

Natasha thought for a moment, "Around sixteen or seventeen hours ago. Maybe a bit longer."

"Less than twenty-four hours ago? I find that hard to believe, I'd guess this was at least three days old with how the healing looks."

Natasha shifted uncomfortably, "My former employers gave me a serum when I was young that speeds up my body's ability to heal and prevents most scarring."

Sanders let out a low whistle, "Now that's pretty impressive. Although, I'd say you're young as it is. I doubt I want to know how old you were when you started working for your former employers."

Natasha didn't respond. The doctor finished probing the wound then began to repack it with bandages after sterilizing it once more, "You're lucky, nothing vital was hit. Just muscle. I'd tell a normal person that it would take another month to heal with a few weeks of physical therapy after that, but since you heal faster I don't know what to tell you. You know, it'd be fascinating to study some of your blood and see how that serum works exactly..."

"Doctor," Hill interjected. "Can we finish this quickly please?"

Sanders nodded to her, "Of course." Then he leaned down low next to Natasha, "Let's see how long I can drag this out before she gives up and leaves."

Natasha hid her amusement. She liked this man.

"Alright, let's see the other arm," he said as he grabbed her arm.

Natasha couldn't help tensing slightly at the unexpected contact. She hadn't expected him to move so quickly.

Sanders narrowed his eyes as he felt the assassin tense next to him, "Sorry, I'll try to give you more warning next time. Barton doesn't like being touched either."

He eyed the graze critically, "This should have been given stitches and cleaned better..."

"Sorry, I was in an alley and had some bandages. Same with my leg."

Sanders carefully opened the wound again to pour antiseptic on it before gently rebandaging it. "You know your serum better than I do, does this need stitches at this point?"

Natasha shook her head, "It'll be mostly healed in two days. Anyway, there's still a chance I'm going to die in the next twenty-four hours so there's really no point."

He frowned at that statement and sent Hill a questioning look. Finishing up with her arm he moved to her leg.

"We have two ways to do this, I can cut away your pants or you can take them completely off."

"Just cut them off, they're ruined anyway."

He grabbed the scissors and began to gently cut away the fabric directly above the bullet hole in her leg, unwrapping the bandaging when it got in the way. Blood began to sluggishly make its way out of the injury again as the bandage pulled away the scab.

"I want to get some antibiotics into you, and this needs stitches."

"I probably won't be able to keep them down, Doctor," Natasha informed him.

He looked up from examining the wound, "Why not?"

"I haven't had anything to eat in over thirty hours and only a bottle of water to drink in that time," she responded.

"Christ," he said, turning to the nurses, "Sam, I need you run to the cafeteria and grab some food and water for Miss Romanoff."

One of the nurses stood and with a curious look at Natasha left the room.

"She doesn't need any food or water right now," Hill stated. "She's still considered a priority target at this point."

Sanders turned to glare at her, "Right now she's my patient and I am going to care for her. That means food and water."

Hill sighed but turned away.

"Any chance of convincing you to take some painkillers before I stitch up your leg?" he asked Natasha.

She shook her head, "None. Anyway, won't be as painful as digging the bullet out and I've had worse than that."

The look on the doctor's face said everything. "Digging the—by yourself? Christ you're insane. I mean, I expect things like that from Barton, but I had hoped he was an anomaly among assassins. Well then, let's get this over with."

* * *

Clint jogged through the halls of SHIELD with the file in his hand. He was headed back to his quarters for a quick shower before heading to medical to find Romanoff and introduce her to SHIELD. He knew Phil wanted to talk to him about what had happened and that he owed his handler that much.

After his shower he grabbed his phone and shot Phil a text, "I'm headed to medical to have Romanoff fill out her paperwork. I'm going to need signatures from a senior agent."

"Be to your room in five minutes," was the prompt reply. Clint slipped the phone into his pocket and moved to wait just outside the door, imagining the lecture Phil had in store for him.

Phil rounded the corner and sighed as he saw his agent standing outside the room, looking like a kicked puppy. He hadn't even started in on him yet.

"I've got her bag," Phil said as he approached. He held up the bag as a peace offering. Things weren't okay between the men at the moment, but this was a way he could reassure Clint that they would be.

"Phil," Clint started before hesitating.

"Don't apologize because we both know you don't mean it," Phil commanded. "We'll talk later, after Romanoff gets settled. Until then, know that I'm pretty fucking pissed at you."

Clint nodded and fell silent as they walked to the infirmary. He knew the quickest way to rectify things with his friend was to apologize and take back his actions. But he couldn't. If he had the chance to go back and change things, he'd make the same call every time. Clint had a good feeling about Romanoff. There was no doubt she'd be a piece of work and would keep him on his toes. In the end it would be worth it though.

The men entered the infirmary as Sanders finished tying off the stitches in Natasha's leg. She was sipping from a bottle of water with an empty to-go box from the base cafeteria.

Hill's eyes narrowed as the two men approached, "Please tell me I'm done with babysitting duty?"

Phil nodded, "You're free. But just so you know, Romanoff's staying. Also, until she's cleared for fieldwork Barton is confined to base and has instructions from the director to assist us in anything we need."

Hill's glower returned, "Lovely." She turned and strode out without another word.

"I'm staying?" Natasha asked, trying to desperately hide the hope in her voice.

Clint nodded, "Yep, Council took the kill order off with the condition that any sign of betrayal and you're out."

Natasha nodded.

Sanders sighed, "If you're staying that means we have to run a full physical on you to have you cleared for basic training... Does Fury want that done now?"

Clint nodded, "Yep. Today is the oh-so-fun paperwork and physical day!"

Natasha ignored his sarcasm and turned to the doctor, "What do you need for the physical?"

"To start, blood, urine, mouth swab, we'll have you complete some exercises and reflex tests, eye exam, and a dental exam," he listed. "Before you get cleared for fieldwork we'll also complete an MRI and maybe other tests."

Sam, the nurse, rolled a cart over to where Natasha was seated. "Let's get started," she said while pulling on gloves and picking up a needle to draw blood.

Clint flipped open the paperwork and grabbed a pen from Sanders's desk.

"Sure Barton, you can borrow my pen," the doctor called over his shoulder.

"Thanks! Anyway, Romanoff, let's start with the easy information: full name and birth date."

"Natasha Alianovna Romanoff and January 21, 1988."

Barton froze, halfway through writing her birth date, "Damn you're young!"

Coulson shook his head, "Clint, you're only three years older than her idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please drop me a review!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter:
> 
> Patrick called the recruits back together, "Alright, in light of the horrors I just watched we're going to see what a real sparring match should look like, with two professionals."
> 
> Clint and Natasha moved to the center of the room, facing each other. They ignored the two men who had just entered.
> 
> Phil felt queasy when he saw who the two agents facing off in the center of the room were: Clint and Natasha.


	4. Chapter Four

_Red Room, Unknown Location—1995_

Natalia followed the other girls in her "class" through the facility. They were never allowed anywhere alone. To be alone meant risking a beating. Natalia had learned that lesson quickly when Ivan had brought her to this place two years ago. The guards were quick to hit and slow to listen to excuses, and the trainers were harsh and cruel. Showing weakness was the worst thing you could do.

Today, the girls had reported to their usual gym for morning training, but their teacher had sent them away with the guards. Natalia had no idea what was coming next, none of them did. What she did know was that training changes usually didn't mean anything good. The last switch they'd had was when they started sparring each other. Failure to win in matches meant reduced food and more beatings.

Natalia hadn't lost a match yet, but she feared the day she would. The other girls hated her and wanted to knock her down at any cost. That's why she chose to stay at the back of the group and a ways away from her fellow recruits. When Ivan took her away from the hospital and brought her here he'd told her that she should look at her parents' death as a lesson. It wouldn't hurt so much if she hadn't let herself care or become attached. Natalia knew these girls were weaker than her, most wouldn't last long, and they'd already lost three members of their "class."

The guards came to a stop outside of a door and gestured for Alina, the girl in the front, to open it. Alina did it, her arm shaking as she reached up. Natalia scoffed quietly,  _weak_. She'd been here the longest of the girls and knew she would survive the longest too.

Inside Ivan stood beside another man, whom none of the girls knew. Looking around herself Natalia realized they were standing in a shooting range. There were five individual stalls set up at the end of the room, each with a target standing at the far end of the lane. The other walls were covered in weapons racks and ammunition.

The girls gathered in silence then turned to face the two men expectantly.

"Today you'll begin your training with firearms," Ivan said. "Pavel Zabolotny will be overseeing your training. This group has shown some of the best test results in the entire facility, especially Natalia's results, and I expect nothing less from today."

The girls nodded solemnly, the concealed threat enough to remind them that they weren't just learning how to use firearms today, they were also still competing for their lives. He'd singled out Natalia as a reminder that failure to achieve acceptable results would mean extra punishments. Ivan ran the Red Room and the girls knew that his word was law. To defy or fail him came with the possibility of death.

Zabolotny stepped forward as Ivan turned and exited the room without a word, "As Ivan has told all of you, today you'll begin learning how to use firearms. You will be spending the entire morning here learning how to clean and assemble the weapons, once you're able to do that correctly I will allow you to fire them.

Natalia paid close attention as Zabolotny described each piece of the weapons they would be handling for the day (basic pistols and revolvers) then demonstrated how to take apart and assemble the weapon. He then showed them the proper cleaning techniques for each of the guns.

"A dirty gun could be a broken gun and then you're dead," he told them.

Finally, he allowed them to begin working on the actual guns. Natalia struggled taking the guns apart the first couple of times, though she quickly learned. Each time she failed Zabolotny would give her a cuff to the back of her head and instruct her to watch as he disassembled the weapon. Soon she learned to ignore the part of her trying to remember the pieces and to simply copy his motions. By her fifth attempt, she could take apart the gun in under seven minutes without problem. Putting it together took a bit longer, but she was still the quickest in the group.

Zabolotny returned to Natalia and gestured for her to complete the required actions in front of him. When she had completed them he picked up the guns and examined them critically.

"Load them."

Natalia scrambled to follow the command. She hadn't been provided ammunition but during his introduction, Zabolotny had mentioned what kind of bullet each gun used. Examining the shelves that lined the room she found what she was looking for. The boxes were heavy but she carried them back to the table without showing the strain.

Zabolotny continued to watch her.

Finding the mechanisms to open the gun to allow for loading proved hard for Natalia. Eventually she figured it out and began to load each gun carefully. She opted for accuracy over speed, knowing that the wrong ammunition could lead to misfire and a useless gun.

When she finished, the man watching examined each gun again. He smiled a thin, cold smile, "Very good Natalia."

The other girls had stopped working to watch, most openly angry with Natalia.

He gestured for Natalia to follow him, "Come, now you will fire these guns."

Natalia drew a sharp breath as she followed him over to the range. He placed the guns on the ledge of the stall and stepped back. Natalia picked up the revolver first, and since Zabolotny didn't stop her, raised it perpendicular to her body and took aim at the target. She focused on the torso of the paper person, knowing it provided her the largest surface to his.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed the trigger, using every ounce of will she had to keep her hands steady. A loud crack echoed through the room as the gun discharged, sending her back a half-step.

Zabolotny smiled, "And with the other one."

Natalia switched guns and repeated the actions, this time when the gun discharged she allowed for the recoil more and didn't move as much.

Zabolotny pressed a button on the side of the stall to call the target forward to them. Two holes had pierced the leftmost edge of the target's torso. They weren't right next to each other, but they were still fairly close. Zabolotny's smirk was downright malicious, "Very good Natalia. You may continue shooting, work to improve your accuracy."

He turned and strode away to continue critiquing the other girls.

Natalia did as instructed and continued to shoot until she ran out of ammunition. She grabbed more quickly and returned to the stall. Her aim did improve through the course of the morning. But what truly made her supervisor happy was the obvious ease with which she fired the guns. What Zabolotny didn't know was that holding and firing the weapons felt right to Natalia. For the first time in a long time she felt powerful, in control of her own life. And now she felt like she could begin to fight back a little bit against the brainwashing and training they subjected the girls to.

By the time lunch came around, only two other girls had joined Natalia in the stalls. Zabolotny dismissed the girls with a thinly veiled threat that tomorrow those who failed to properly assemble and take apart their guns would face severe consequences.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, Unknown Location—2007_

Natasha followed Clint through the halls of SHIELD. She had passed the preliminary medical exam and been able to change into the spare clothing in her bag. Now they were headed to the "techs," Clint had said. Apparently they didn't do regular old ink fingerprinting around here but preferred to use computer software to capture fingerprints and retinal images. Natasha had never had technology used for security quite like this. The Red Room went for the old-fashioned lock and key approach.

"Good afternoon," Clint greeted the techs cheerily as they entered the room.

Natasha watched in satisfaction as several of the men and women in the room jumped upon their entry. None of them were field certified for sure. Many actually looked away in fear when they saw who had entered: none other than Hawkeye and the infamous Black Widow.

A young man in the center of the room stood up, "Barton," he greeted them, the waver in his voice almost imperceptible. "What can we do for you?"

"Fury wants you all to get Romanoff into the system, hand and retinal scans and giving her a SHIELD ID number and password," Clint said smoothly. "Think you can do that George?"

The man nodded and glanced at Natasha nervously, she flashed him a terrifying grin all teeth and no humor. "Right this way," he muttered, leading them to a computer in the back of the room.

The two assassins stood in the room in silence as the man—George—began typing furiously. He grabbed the file from Barton and began entering some of the information from it.

George moved to grab Natasha's hand to place on the scanner beside the computer, he froze, his arm outstretched halfway to Natasha, when he saw her glare at him.

"Um," he gulped. "Could-Could you please just put your hand on here for a second?"

Natasha nodded and stepped forward. The scanner glowed red and a blue light moved up and down, reading the whorls and curls of Natasha's hand. Natasha grew slightly uncomfortable as the screen heated up slightly.

George stared at the computer for a moment before nodding to Natasha, "O-okay, you can take your hand off now. We need to get a re-retinal scan now."

Natasha moved to position her right eye in front of the device attached to the wall. George pressed a few keys on the keyboard then stepped back as blue jets of light fanned out from the small module and began to record Natasha's eye. It was uncomfortable to say the least, Natasha realized. She didn't appreciate having a bright light shone directly into her eye.

Clint stood to the side, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly while he waited. There was really nothing he could do at this point, but the silence was killing him. He felt the tension between himself and the other assassin and between them and the rest of SHIELD. Right now he needed at least one ally and she seemed like the logical choice, too bad it appeared that she detested him.

George stepped away from the computer and read a few files on the screen. A single page printed off, "Okay, you're good to go. This is your SHIELD ID number, you need to memorize it and keep it confidential."

Natasha nodded and accepted the paper without comment. She turned to Clint expectantly.

"Now we go visit Fury. He'll want this paperwork back, although he probably won't be happy to see either of us right now... Oh well! Nothing to be done about it."

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him in scorn. She didn't appreciate his rambling, or reminders that her position here was still in jeopardy.

The two left the techs behind them, ignoring the collective sigh they heard once they had exited the room.

"So, how good are you at directions?" Clint asked conversationally.

"Decent."

"Yeah, then do you know how to get to the infirmary from here?" he challenged.

The derision in Natasha's eyes showed her opinion of his challenge while her voice remained even, "Go down this hall, take a right, then take the third left, go up the stairs one level and down the hall, then one more right and the immediate left."

Clint nodded, impressed.

"And back to the interrogation room I was held in from there means going down three floors, four lefts and two rights."

Clint smirked, "Now you're just showing off. But it's good that you're learning your way around. The other recruits have been here for a while and so they have a bit of an edge on you."

Natasha shrugged, in non-response.

By this point they had reached the central control room in the base.

The Black Widow gazed around the room, noting the various rooms that branched off of it, most appeared to briefing rooms, a couple were offices. Various personnel sat within and moved around the room, most glancing up at the newcomers before returning to their work. A few brave souls openly gawped at the two assassins.

Clint led the way to a door on the far right of the room. There was nothing to indicate that there was anything special behind this door, yet Natasha could feel a sense of power radiating from it. Maybe it was the way the other agents seemed to avoid it, or perhaps it was because Clint had slowed down upon their approach.

Clint raised his fist and knocked on the door firmly. He lowered his hand to his side and stood there, fighting to remain calm.

"Enter," a voice called from within.

Natasha recognized that voice. She'd been speaking to its owner not two hours ago. Clint pushed the door open and stepped inside with Natasha a step behind. Fury glanced up from the paperwork on his desk to glower at the two people in front of him.

"This had better be important, you two are the last people I want to see right now," he said levelly.

Clint stepped forward and placed Natasha's file in front of him, "I just thought you'd appreciate getting her paperwork as soon as possible."

Fury grunted in acknowledgement then flipped open the folder. He skimmed its contents before looking at Natasha. "Romanoff," he began. "How old were you when you started training with the Red Room?"

"Six, sir."

Clint's jaw dropped, "Six?"

Natasha nodded and shrugged, "All of us began training around that age. I was raised in the Red Room."

"Barton, show her to her room and the training gym. See if Patrick's there to meet her," Fury barked, effectively ending the conversation.

Clint beckoned Natasha to follow him as they exited the Director's office.

"Patrick?" Natasha asked as they traversed the base once again. She was beginning to get a feel for the sheer size of the facility.

"Agent Allan Patrick," Clint supplied. "He trains the new recruits. And sometimes continues working with agents after basic training. He's pretty good at what he does."

"How many recruits are there?" she continued.

"Usually around thirty are admitted each year. It's very competitive and the average recruiting age is twenty-five years old. You and I are the two youngest agents every brought in."

Natasha cocked an eyebrow at this information, "How old were you?"

"Eighteen," he said with a smirk. "Youngest agent ever brought in. I was guessing you were around twenty when I first saw you, it's hard to believe you're still technically a teenager."

Natasha lashed out and, with a well-placed kick, knocked Clint to the ground.

Clint gawked at the woman standing above him as she spoke in a deadly low voice, "Keep in mind Agent Barton that though I am young I am incredibly good at my job. I've been doing this since before you even realized it was a possible career choice. You pose next to no challenge to me and you would do well to remember your own inferiority."

Clint scrambled to his feet, annoyed at the woman now, "And you should keep in mind that I saved your life instead of taking it. You owe me. So you get to humor me when I tease you about your age because for once I'm not the youngest agent around here having to prove my worth. I never suggested you weren't capable of doing your job, I know you are. You forget, I watched you on your last assignment."

Natasha turned away from the fuming man and began walking down the hall.

Clint jogged a few steps to keep up, fury burning him from the inside out. He should have known better than to mess with the assassin so early. But his pride had been wounded by her easy take down and scathing words. This partnership was going to prove even more challenging than he'd imagined.

After a few minutes of silence as they continued through the facility, Clint spoke. "I'm sorry for that. We're going to be partners so we should start learning to get along now. Your age is off limits, got it. But I like to joke and tease the people I work with. We may not have chosen to work together but that's how it's going to be, we both need to deal with it."

Natasha's nod was all the acceptance he received.

_Yep_ , he thought.  _Definitely a challenge._

Luckily, they were spared from further conversation since they had reached the gym. Clint gestured for Natasha to use her code to enter the room. She did so without even glancing at the paper she still carried. He wasn't surprised that she had an eidetic if not photographic memory.

Inside a group of men and women were running wind sprints across the floor, using the lines taped to the floor. A tall, muscular man stood to the side watching them.

Clint approached him, far more relaxed than he had been when visiting Fury.

"Patrick," he greeted. "How're they looking?"

The man shrugged, "Give me a few more months and they'll be passable. This her? The girl you decided to toss the rulebook out the window for?" His Irish brogue surprised Natasha seeing as she'd been expecting SHIELD personnel to be Americans only.

Natasha stepped forward to shake the man's offered hand. He had a good handshake she decided.

Clint nodded, "Allan Patrick, this is Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and starting tomorrow one of your recruits."

Patrick studied Natasha for a long moment, "Judging by the rumors we've all heard about you, you'll be shaming my recruits immediately. You're probably better than half the agents I've already trained."

Natasha shrugged noncommittally.

"You're injured," he observed.

"Nothing too serious, I'll be fine tomorrow."

The man frowned, "I push my recruits, but that doesn't mean making them train with severe injuries. Has medical cleared you?"

"They have. Doctor Sanders agreed to let me train although threatened me with indefinite bed rest if I injured myself further."

Patrick nodded, "Good. Someone needs to keep an eye on agents like you and Barton. Otherwise you'd work yourselves to death."

Natasha shrugged in response, she knew her limits.

"Scully, get your ass in gear!" Patrick shouted at the trainees. Natasha hid a smirk, she had had trainers like him who always seemed to know what was going on even if they weren't paying active attention to their charges.

"So Romanoff," he asked conversationally. "How worried should I be about putting you up against these recruits starting tomorrow? I mainly want to know if you have any limitations from your injuries."

"I can take care of myself. I'll let you know if something is making things worse, but I should be fine with everything. How far into training are they?"

"About three months. We usually make recruits wait to join the next year's group at this point. Guess they're making an exception for you."

"I'll be fine. I'd worry about your recruits if I were you."

Patrick laughed, "It'll be good for them to remember they aren't the cream of the crop. Barton, what's your punishment for bringing her in?"

Clint grimaced, "Confined to base and on probation until she's field ready, Coulson and Hill's personal slave, and I'm supposed to help you train the recruits."

Patrick shook his head, "That's pretty rough man, but hey, you still have your job. Anyway, you and I will have some fun training these idiots."

"Well we'll see you tomorrow," Clint said as he glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have to finish up this tour and get some food."

Patrick nodded and waved the two assassins away, turning to yell at the trainees again.

"Next stop, your room," Clint explained as they left the gym.

The trainees were housed only ten minutes away from the gym where they spent most of their time, Natasha learned. The rooms were bunkrooms with two sets of beds, meaning there were four recruits to each room and each room was based on gender.

According to Barton, this year's group of recruits had only six females; therefore they had split between two rooms, three in each. Natasha had been placed in one of the rooms and would remain there until her training was complete. Natasha didn't like this idea. She had spent most of her life living alone in a concrete room, she doubted that her new roommates would appreciate the intrusion and that they would especially dislike the fact that they were now living with the Black Widow.

Clint told her to take what she wanted out of her bag and leave it in the locker at the end of the bed before they left.

"Can't I just keep the bag?" she asked.

Clint shook his head, "Sorry but new recruits aren't allowed to have many personal items. They especially aren't allowed to have weapons. I know that most of what's in that bag is weapons... I don't make the rules."

"As if I need weapons to be deadly," she scoffed.

Clint shrugged, "I know."

"What happens to my weapons while I'm here, then?"

"We'll take care of them. I promise you'll get them back as soon as you're cleared for field duty."

"When will that be?"

"Most recruits take about two years to be completely capable of fieldwork. I did it in eight months. You have more experience than I did when I joined up so I bet you finish sooner. I hope you finish sooner."

"You want me to finish just so you can leave base," Natasha accused.

Clint shrugged, "Yeah, and I know that you won't be happy here if you're stuck in training."

"Where next?" Natasha asked, changing the subject.

"Well, I've shown you everywhere I was supposed to. You'll note there's a packet of information on your bed, I recommend you start reading it before tomorrow. As for right now, I'm going to the cafeteria because I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours and I could use some food. You're welcome to join me if you'd like."

Natasha considered her options before nodding. "Don't think this means I want to spend time with you, I just want to know where I need to go for meals."

Clint led the way out of the room, Natasha following dutifully behind him.

"So where do you live?" she asked mildly.

Clint looked at her in suspicion, he didn't know why she would be interested in that information. "I have a room on the base. I also have an apartment in the city that I prefer to stay at. However, since I'm stuck on base I won't be going there anytime soon."

Natasha nodded, "What city is that? No one's bothered to tell me where we are."

"About an hour outside of New York City, I assume you know where that is."

"I do."

They proceeded in silence to the cafeteria, where they grabbed their food and found a table. Natasha didn't miss the glance people continued to give them as they ate. She knew they hated her, feared her even, but she had no need to change that perception.

When they had finished eating Clint led her to the dish return area then back to her room, "I should warn you, for the first week or so you won't actually be doing much training. You'll be completing diagnostic exams and evaluations."

Natasha nodded, "Thanks for showing me around."

"No problem, see you tomorrow. Oh, and Romanoff, don't fuck this up."

Natasha watched as he strode away before entering her new room. None of the other women had returned yet so she took advantage of her ability to shower without being interrupted. Stepping out of the water she dried off with a SHIELD provided towel before turning to dig for clothes. She hadn't brought much, luckily SHIELD had supplied her with a few pairs of workout pants and several shirts.

She was reading through the paperwork when her roommates arrived, freezing in the doorway when they noticed her on the bed.

"You were in the gym earlier," the tallest brunette said. "Talking with Agent Patrick."

Natasha nodded.

"Why are you here?" the woman asked.

"I'm your new roommate, I start training tomorrow."

The blonde woman scoffed, "Please, they don't let people join training late."

Natasha shrugged, "They made an exception for me."

"Why would they do that?" the blonde snarled.

The other brunette stepped forward, she was solidly built and had a no-nonsense look in her eyes, "Does it matter, Stimson? I'm Jamie Lopez, this is Katrina Stimson," she gestured to the blonde. "And that's Alison Mogler. What's your name?"

Natasha rose from the bed, "Natasha Romanoff. And as for why they've made an exception, you may have heard of me. I'm the Black Widow."

Stimson laughed, "Please, you're not the Black Widow."

Natasha shrugged, "Think what you want."

"Well whoever you are, welcome to our room. Lights out in thirty minutes." Lopez said.

The women moved into the room and began preparing for bed. Stimson and Mogler sent dirty looks at Natasha while Lopez just ignored her. It didn't phase Natasha at all, she simply returned to reading over the SHIELD introduction packet she'd been given.

* * *

Natasha had woken a while before the rest of her roommates and the knock on the door calling for the recruits to attend their training for the day. The other women stumbled to the bathroom and out the door, Natasha following behind them. She had her schedule for the day memorized, from physical training in the morning to the vague "intelligence exams" and the dreaded "psych evaluation" in the afternoon.

Lopez, Stimson, and Mogler went to stand next to their fellow recruits upon arrival to the gym. Stimson and Mogler were quick to start telling the others about their new companion.

A decently attractive blonde man approached Natasha from where he'd been talking to Stimson. "Hey sweetheart," he drawled.

Natasha sent him a cold, dismissive look and turned away.

"My name's Marvin Scully, everyone calls me Scull," he continued. "I thought I'd offer to show you the ropes around here."

"No thanks," Natasha said.

"Come on baby, don't be like that. You look like you obviously need a man to take care of you. Claiming your the Black Widow could get you in trouble with some very dangerous people, and we don't want that," he continued, invading Natasha's personal space.

"I'd step back if I were you," she warned him. "Leave me alone before you get yourself hurt."

Scully chuckled, reaching out to grab her arm, "Please, like a little thing like you could hurt me."

Natasha burst into motion as his hand closed around her arm. She twisted away from his grasp and landed a solid kick to his chest. Scully stumbled back a step but didn't have time to recover when suddenly Natasha was dropping low and sliding between his legs, kicking out as she did. He went down. Hard. Natasha rose to her feet gracefully and stepped away from her moaning opponent. The other recruits stared in awe.

Scully rolled to his feet, "Bitch, get back here so I can teach you a lesson."

"Romanoff," a voice sighed from the doorway. "Can you not send my recruits to the infirmary already?"

Natasha turned to see Patrick standing next to a smirking Clint.

"And Scully, get your ass off the ground. From what I saw you're lucky she didn't kill you outright," Patrick continued.

"TRAINEES FALL IN!" Patrick then bellowed at the watching group.

The men and women jumped and moved to stand at attention.

Natasha remained off to the side.

"As you can see there've been some changes for our little group," Patrick said as he walked up and down the lines of recruits. "First, we've got a new trainee. Meet Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. You may have heard of her. She'll be completing her basic training with us, you may want to learn what you can from her before she leaves us. Second, Agent Clint Barton will now be helping me facilitate your training. You may have heard of him too, he sometimes goes by Hawkeye. Now, don't think that this will make your training any easier. With Barton here there's now two sets of eyes on you lot. Any questions?"

No one moved let alone responded.

"Good, let's get started." Patrick's grin could only be described as absolutely evil.

The recruits started by running ten laps around the gym, the equivalent of five miles Natasha figured. They then moved into sparring. Patrick matched each recruit up with a partner and set up something similar to a tournament where the winners continued to spar while the losers sparred each other. He and Barton walked around critiquing fighting styles and giving pointers.

Natasha found herself matched against a young man with glasses, he smiled easily at her, "I've already resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to lose this match, my name's Jared. Feel free to do your worst."

Natasha launched herself at the young man as soon as he'd finished speaking. He managed to deflect the first punch she threw at him and even make a counter before she sped up and ended the match by knocking him to the ground and placing her foot on his windpipe. The next three matches went much the same way for Natasha.

When she faced Stimson it was a bit different, the other woman obviously hated Natasha. She moved first and didn't hesitate to start fighting dirty. Natasha remained on the defensive for the first minute before growing annoyed. When Stimson actually grabbed a fistful of Natasha's hair and pulled, the assassin responded.

Natasha dropped to the ground, ignoring the pain on her scalp and shocking Stimson into letting go. She rolled back to her feet and kicked the other woman in the diaphragm, making her gasp as she stumbled back. Natasha flipped over her and wrapped her arms around Stimson's neck.

"Dead," she murmured in the woman's ear. "Maybe you should pay attention next time someone tells you they're better than you."

Patrick had watched the match between Natasha and her opponent, "Stimson that was sloppy. You let your anger get in the way, go cool off."

The woman stalked away obviously angry.

"You were toying with her."

It wasn't a question but Natasha still nodded in response.

"I can't put you up against these guys in good conscious," Patrick said. "Mind if I put you against Barton? Use the two of you as a demonstration for my recruits."

Natasha shrugged. She didn't have a problem with it. In fact, she'd wanted to go against the other assassin since he had shot her. She was curious as to which of them was better.

Clint approached Patrick and Natasha when he noticed them talking, "This is painful to watch."

Patrick nodded, "The sad thing is they've drastically improved. Romanoff and I were just talking, I want to use the two of you as a demonstration. You up for it?"

Clint eyed the Widow before nodding, "Why not?"

"Good, go warm up for a few minutes. I'm about to call them to a halt."

Clint moved away to start stretching while Natasha grabbed the water bottle she'd been provided and drank from it, watching Clint.

_This will be interesting_ , she thought.

Patrick called the recruits back together, "Alright, in light of the horrors I just watched we're going to see what a real sparring match should look like, with two professionals."

Clint and Natasha moved to the center of the room, facing each other. They ignored the two men who had just entered.

Phil felt queasy when he saw who the two agents facing off in the center of the room were: Clint and Natasha. He looked over to see if Fury was going to stop it, but found himself disappointed as the other man simply looked interested in the developing fight.

"This isn't going to go well," Phil muttered.

Fury shrugged, "It'll be informative at least."

"You both know the rules: no weapons, no permanent injuries, and you must stop if your opponent asks for a break or yields." Patrick told the assassins. He had realized when they faced each other that this may not have been the best idea, there was a very real chance they would injure or kill each other. "Begin."

Neither Clint nor Natasha moved. Neither had taken a fighting stance when Patrick told them to start. Instead, they watched each other, sizing up their opponent, waiting to see who would attack first.

Natasha was the one who moved first, charging her opponent and throwing a punch directly to his face. Clint ducked out of the way and countered with an attempted blow to her ribs, which missed as she spun away.

The next fifteen seconds passed in a blur of movement too fast and close for the watching group to see what happened. The assassins broke away from each other and moved to circle around the area.

Both were wary of the other one now, no one had been able to gain the upper hand in their combat. Natasha was acutely aware of her injuries. She knew that Clint knew about them, yet he hadn't attacked any and actually seemed to be holding back. Why he hadn't, she didn't know. But she had to remain cautious lest he use them against her.

As for Clint, he knew Natasha was holding back somewhat. He knew she was injured and had been fighting before she faced him. But he wasn't on his game either, he hadn't slept much the night before and not at all in the thirty-some hours before that and could feel the fatigue slowing down his reflexes and his brain.

The watchers thought there must have been some sort of signal from the two assassins since they came together to trade blows again in the same moment.

This time, there was more ferocity behind their attacks. Natasha kicked out at Barton causing him to step back to avoid the blow and change his attack to swing at her ribs. He expected her to dodge though and followed it with a kick from the opposite side. Natasha barely managed to block the kick and had to step back in order to regain her balance.

Clint jumped forward and kicked at Natasha's head, causing her to roll forward under him before rising and landing a square punch to his ribs. Clint ignored the blow and stepped forward driving Natasha back as she blocked and dodged his raining blows. He got a couple of hits in on her arms and even one on her bruised ribs.

Natasha took advantage of a slight opening to cartwheel and flip away from him, landing on the other side of the gym. They spent the next few seconds catching their breath and circling again.

The room was eerily silent, everyone in awe of the assassins as they tried to gain the upper hand.

Once again, Natasha charged forward first, Clint staying in place to meet her attack. What he didn't expect was for her to launch herself into the air and wrap her thighs around his neck. Clint went with her momentum as she pulled him to the ground, he knew that to resist would risk serious injury to his back. They landed and she tightened her legs around his neck and shoulders, effectively pinning him down.

Clint sighed, he'd been beaten. He reached his hand up and tapped on Natasha's leg twice, signaling his defeat. Damn she was good.

Natasha released her grip and rolled smoothly to her feet as he stood up as well.

"That last move was risky," he said as they moved towards the watching group (who seemed stunned that the match had ended already). "You could have broken my spine."

Natasha shrugged, "I figured you wouldn't be stupid enough to counter something like it. Anyway, it had to end soon or we'd have been here all day."

Clint couldn't fault her logic, they were pretty evenly matched. Had the match gone on much longer the odds of them finishing it would have diminished exponentially.

Patrick looked at his recruits, "I don't expect any of you to gain that proficiency this year, what I expect though is to see all of you improve dramatically. Now, pair up and continue sparring. Focus on your form, not speed."

The recruits walked away to begin their exercise.

Fury moved over to where Natasha and Clint were standing, each sipping from a water bottle. Patrick and Phil followed him. "Impressive," Fury said. "The two of you are going to make an excellent partnership, especially if you continue training together."

Clint and Natasha gave each other dubious looks. Neither liked the idea of being partnered.

"I'm here to escort Romanoff to the first exam she'll be taking today," Fury continued. "Barton, I believe Agent Coulson has some work for you unless Agent Patrick still requires your assistance."

Patrick shook his head. "Take him."

Phil practically dragged Clint out of the gym while Natasha and Fury followed at a slower pace.

"I thought my exams started this afternoon sir," Natasha said.

"That was the original plan," Fury replied. "But Dr. Sanders wants you to come back in for more medical work this afternoon, so we're shifting things around."

"Do you usually escort your agents around the base?"

"No. But I wanted to talk with you before you started this process. Yesterday you said you joined the Red Room at age six. How long were you there before they started sending you on missions."

Natasha swallowed, "I was thirteen when they sent me on my first mission. They kept me in training for a few years after that. When I was sixteen they stopped training me and just started using me for missions."

Fury nodded, "You have more experience than we expected. That's six years of missions and thirteen years of training. If you've spent almost your entire life with them, why did you leave?"

"I already told you that, sir. They disavowed me after thirteen years. It just didn't seem fair," Natasha replied. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

Fury hummed in response. He saw through her statement but wasn't going to call her on it.

"Did Barton explain the exams to you?"

"No, sir. I only know what was in the introductory materials in my room."

"First you'll be given a general IQ test, then we'll test you on your knowledge of math, science, history, geography, languages, and some other subjects."

"Is there a reason for the math, science, and history?"

"We want our agents to have a basic understanding of all of those subjects, you never know when it will be useful. It also helps us determine the level of education applicants have truly received."

Natasha nodded, accepting that answer.

"We're here," Fury stopped in front of a nondescript door and keyed in his access code. "Do me a favor and don't scare the examiners to much."

Natasha smirked, "No promises."

"Good luck," he said before turning and leaving.

Natasha stepped into the room and nearly groaned when she saw the table and chair in the middle, complete with paper, pencils, and test booklets. It was like being back in the Red Room when she'd had daily classes on top of her physical and espionage training.

* * *

Clint followed Phil from the gym curious as to what his handler wanted him to do. Finally he caved and spoke, "What job do you have for me?"

"We're going to be sorting through some old paperwork. It needs to be put in chronological order. I figured it would be a good task for you."

Clint groaned. He loathed paperwork, especially categorizing paperwork. "Do we have to?" he whined.

Phil turned and raised an eyebrow. "We could be on a mission or enjoying some time off if you had just killed her instead of adopting her."

Clint's eyes narrowed, "So that's it. You're using the paperwork as an excuse to have the talk we didn't have last night."

Phil shrugged and continued walking. Clint followed behind him seething. He was more than willing to talk with his handler, he just didn't like being tricked into doing so. Phil stopped when they'd reached one of the storage rooms on base.

"Really? We're sorting through paperwork so old it's in storage?" Clint muttered.

Phil gave Clint a pointed look and the agent walked in without further comment.

"So, how are we going to do this?" Clint asked as he eyed the walls of boxes. "One person pulls files and the other puts them back?"

Phil nodded, "Works for me. Which one do you want?"

"I'll pull."

"Excellent."

The men worked in silence for a few minutes before Phil spoke, "Clint, that was risky in there. Fighting her like you did. She could have killed you."

"It's called trust, Phil," Clint shot back. "I'm capable of taking care of myself. And she isn't going to kill me, she wouldn't have waited until now to do it if she was."

"Clint, that isn't comforting."

"Well then what do you want me to say?"

The silence dragged on for several moments before Phil spoke. "I want to understand. Why did you spare her? How can you trust her?"

Clint dragged his hand through his short hair in aggravation. It was a gesture Phil was used to seeing, but it usually appeared as a result of something going wrong on a mission or Clint remembering some horrific event from his past. Phil didn't think he'd ever see it because of him.

"I can't explain it. I saw something in her."

"You saw what? I want to understand, Clint, I really do. I want to be able to trust that you made the right call."

"I don't think I can explain it. She's human, somewhere in her brokenness she's still human. And who am I to deny her a chance when that was exactly what I've been given? And as for trusting that I made the right call, you either trust me or you don't. Apparently, you don't."

Phil slammed the file on the table, "That's not what I said. It has nothing do with trusting you. I don't trust her so I can't understand how you think you made the right call here. She'd a psychotic killer, she's never shown remorse in the past, and she certainly hasn't since I've seen her."

"I thought that you of all people would be able to just trust me..." Clint murmured. "After everything we've been through..."

Phil took a step back as though he'd been physically hit. Clint's words hit hard.

"I trust you, Clint, don't ever doubt that—"

"That's hard to do when you're sitting her telling me that you don't," Clint interrupted.

"I do. I just don't understand why you didn't kill her."

"Because you promised me when I joined SHIELD that I would never have to kill an innocent."

"She's innocent now?"

"You weren't there when we gave her paperwork to Fury," Clint ran his hand through his hair again. "She's been with the Red Room since she was six years old."

Phil took a sharp breath. He hadn't known that.

"Tell me she isn't innocent. Her entire life has been spent learning how to kill and then killing. She'd never been given a choice in anything before I offered her one yesterday. I won't take back my actions."

Phil leaned against the table, "I wish that was enough, but it's not."

"What more do you want?" Clint was almost shouting now.

"I don't know. Solid proof that she isn't going to turn on us? Proof that she didn't somehow brainwash you? Hell, I'd settle for proof that she actually wants to be a good guy."

"I don't have that for you. Believe me, I know things would be so much easier if I did. All I have is a gut feeling and what I saw—she's going to be good. You'll just have to watch and see."

Phil sighed, "Clint, do you know how hard this is on me? I spent most of yesterday wondering if you were still going to have a job or if I'd be watching you get executed. And now, I've just been worrying about the fact that you're going to be partnered with the Black Widow. She's going to be the one in the field next to you and I have to know I can trust her with your life."

Clint moved to stand next to his handler, "Phil, I promise I'll take care of myself. You don't have to worry just because the Widow is my partner. You didn't doubt me when I joined SHIELD, and I've spent every day trying to prove you right. That's all I want from her. I see the good, I'm just giving her the chance. So trust that I know what I'm doing, that I'm making the right call, and that if anything makes me doubt her I'll take care of the problem."

Phil nodded, "I'll try. That's all I can give you kid. And I'm still mad as hell about this whole thing. You had a chance to do this the right way, you just chose not to."

"The right way would have taken too long and I may have lost my chance. I did what I had to and now we're dealing with the consequences. I'm sorry I dragged you down with me, but that is all I will apologize for."

"Don't apologize for that, I will always back your play even if I don't agree with it," Phil said as he rested his hand on Clint's back. "I'm sorry that things are tense between us right now, but I promise they'll get back to normal. I just need time to get used to this and to forget about how scared I was for you."

Clint nodded, "Don't think that I want to be her partner or have her as part of this team, Phil. I'm selfish enough to want to keep us how it is. But I know that she's my responsibility, and she will be good. You didn't fight her today like I did. She's fast and strong. And we—this is going to sound crazy—we seemed to read each other's moves really well. Before she did the thigh chokehold, I knew that whatever she was doing was going to end the fight. I could sense it."

"You're right, it does sound crazy. But I've long since learned that with you, crazy is almost normal."

Clint chuckled in response.

"Now what do you say we get these boxes sorted."

"Do we have to?" Clint's voice took on a whining quality.

"Yes."

"How long have they been in here for?"

"Actually, most of these seem to date from World War II. So they've been in storage for a while. You know that SHIELD developed as the brain child of several of the officers and scientists involved in the Secret Science Reserve project."

"Oh I know. It's the organization that gave us the great Captain America!" Clint teased.

Phil cuffed the back of his head gently, "You wouldn't have a job without them and the Captain."

"Doesn't mean I have to feel as strongly about him as you do."

The men resumed their work in a more companionable silence. Things weren't completely fixed, but they would be.

"Hey Phil," Clint said after a few minutes. "Look what I found." He held up one of the many files they'd been digging through, this one marked "Steve Rogers, Captain America."

Phil practically tripped moving to grab the folder from Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please take the time to leave a comment.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "You don't owe me anything," Clint said, hoping to end the conversation and get her out of the room.
> 
> "But I do." She moved so she was standing between his legs, reaching out to trail a finger down his still bare chest.
> 
> Clint shivered but didn't pull away, still unsure of her motives.
> 
> "So let me repay you," she whispered.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you callista51 for reviewing!

_Red Room, Unknown Location—1994_

Natalia had spent over a year in the Red Room now. She didn't know where exactly she was, just that they weren't in Moscow anymore. She missed her parents, but the pain was starting to go away. Ivan had told her that not caring would make things much easier.

Her first month in the new facility she'd befriended another girl, named Anya. Anya had been a little older than Natalia and had arrived just a few days before. Natalia liked Anya, and Anya had liked Natalia enough to help her out and show her the ropes around the facility. But all too soon Anya went missing. Natalia heard from another older girl it was because she messed up too much and now she was dead.

Natalia hardened her heart after crying herself to sleep that night. She didn't want to hurt anymore; she didn't want to feel the pain. The only time she felt better was when they had the girls do ballet. Madame Krinovski, their ballet instructor, told them it was because they needed to be balanced, poised, and strong for their work but still look beautiful and delicate. Natalia loved days when they had ballet.

It was hard work, learning to dance along with everything else, but she wouldn't trade it at all. Ballet made her think of her Mama, who would take her to class, and her Papa, who asked her to dance every time she came home.

Twirling and leaping around the ballet studio, Natalia was able to forget the bad things in her life and remember the good ones. She felt free. Madame Krinovski complemented her on her dancing that day, saying she would have made a great professional ballerina. But that she was meant to do greater things.

That night the other girls, the ones who used to be Madame Krinovski's favorites, attacked her. Natalia hid her bruises the next day, hoping no one would notice the limp she had. She knew the instructors noticed, they just didn't say anything. So she didn't say anything either. But she stopped letting anyone see her enjoyment, merely going through the motions. It was easier to be mediocre than happy.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2007_

Natasha's IQ test went relatively quickly and she breezed through the knowledge tests as if they were nothing. The language tests were a joke as well, although the linguists testing her started treating it like a game as they quizzed her and spoke to her in every language she had any proficiency in. To be a linguist at SHIELD you pretty much needed to be fluent in four languages and able to get by in another three or so. For Natasha to come in and be fluent in ten languages, with another five passable was astounding. She didn't think anything of it since she had been raised among other girls with the same skills as her.

Then came the psych evals after a short lunch break. Natasha was already starting to dislike the SHIELD cafeteria food selection. It was so... American.

The first psychologist walked into the room and sat down across from Natasha with a smile. She seemed like a sweet enough girl, introduced herself as Dr. Monty, but call her Alice. Natasha didn't plan to call her anything. The girl couldn't have been much older than Natasha, yet Natasha couldn't help but thinking of her as much younger. Opening Natasha's file, Dr. Monty smiled, "Shall we get started?"

Natasha nodded.

"How are you adjusting to SHIELD so far?" Dr. Monty asked, pen raised to take notes.

Her patient shrugged.

"I see. It's a bit of a change from what you're used to I'm sure," she said, her voice getting slightly higher at the end of the sentence as if she wasn't sure.

Natasha kept her face impassive.

"So you were born in Russia. Have you ever been to America before?"

No response.

Natasha could see the psychologist getting more agitated by her lack of answers. A sadistic part of her took pleasure in that fact.

"Okay, well let's get down to business. As I'm sure you're aware I'm here to examine your mental state and make sure that you're fit for field duty. SHIELD takes its agent's health very seriously," Monty rambled.

When she noticed that Natasha didn't seem interested she cleared her throat, "Let's see then, how happy are you on a scale of one to ten with ten being very happy."

Natasha fixed her cold gaze on the woman in front of her, "I don't succumb to such trivial emotions as happiness."

The woman was visibly shaken, but continued on anyway, "Have you ever had thoughts of suicide, depression, or a desire for death?"

"How much do you know about me? What did they tell you about my recruitment?" Natasha asked. "See, I pretty much dared Hawkeye to kill me. Right now, I kind of wish he had just so I wouldn't have to sit through such inane nonsense as this. Tell me Dr. Monty, are you always this unsure with your patients? Or is it just me? Because I think you want approval more than anything in the world. By not responding to your questions I'm making you feel like a failure. And maybe you are, you won't get me to talk or tell you anything remotely important."

The woman's lip trembled for a moment before she burst into tears and ran out of the room. Natasha leaned back in her chair, waiting until someone came to try again. There was no way they'd let her skip out on the psych evaluation. She didn't see much point since she already knew that she was what would be considered "mentally unstable." She had been killing for most of her life and didn't exactly feel remorse for it. She had experienced some of the most atrocious things anyone could experience and yet refused to talk about it or face it. Instead, she pushed it all away, knowing that to open those thoughts back up would lead to the inability to do her job correctly.

Natasha knew better than to fight with her psyche. She knew who she was and what she could or couldn't face.

The door opened about ten minutes after Monty had left crying to admit a stern looking middle-aged man.

"Agent Romanoff," he greeted her as he took Monty's place seat. "I'm Dr. Windmere. I need you to answer all of my questions fully and succinctly please, then we'll have you on your way."

Natasha smirked to herself, she already had a read on this guy. Control freak.

"Now, on a scale of one to ten please describe your happiness."

"Like I told Dr. Monty, I don't have emotions such as happiness, I refuse to let them compromise my ability to work."

The man scribbled a note down in the folder. "Let's try something different." He reached into the files in front of her and pulled out several pages with seemingly random patterns on them.

"I assume you know what these are?"

"Rorschach inkblots," Natasha supplied dutifully.

"Good, now you'll just tell me the first thing that pops into your head."

Natasha rolled her eyes slight, please, like she would. She knew the "correct" or "normal" answers to the cards.

The doctor began holding each card up and jotting down Natasha's responses.

"Bat."

"Two people."

"Two people."

"Animal skin."

Her answers became more immediate as she tried to get a rise from the doctor. His scratchings became more furious.

"Butterfly."

"Animal rug."

"Faces."

"Animal."

"Human."

"Spider."

The doctor threw his pen onto the table in frustration, "Those are not the first thing you saw in those images! You're simply reciting the list of things you've been taught are correct!"

Natasha smirked, "But that's the first thing that pops into my head, doctor. See I did follow your directions."

Windmere began to turn red.

"It bothers you doesn't it, that I didn't follow your directions exactly. You can't stand that you don't control me." Natasha hissed at the man. "Give up now before you break down."

Windmere turned a dangerous shade of red—nearly purple—before standing up and exiting the room in anger. He slammed the door behind him so hard the walls seemed to shake.

That's two, Natasha thought to herself. How many more would they send before they gave up?

This time it took fifteen minutes for the next psychologist to show up. This one was a woman who Natasha guessed was around fifty years old. Her presence certainly felt different from the other two doctors who'd tried to break through Natasha's barriers.

"Agent Romanoff, you've now made two of my doctors cry," she began as she sat down.

Natasha smirked, "Windmere cried?"

"It was in anger, but yes, tears did leave his eyes."

Natasha fought the urge to laugh, served the puffed up bastard right.

"I'm Dr. Jennifer Parilla, I'm the head of the SHIELD psychology department. My coworkers filled me on your answers to their questions and I think it shows me that you really don't want anyone digging around in your subconscious," the woman continued.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, this seemed different.

"So this is how it's going to be; you will meet with me once a week for at least an hour. Whether you want to talk or not, that's up to you. But know this, I will not clear you for field work until we've talked and I feel that you're mentally stable enough for missions."

Natasha frowned, "I can assure you that I am capable of completing any and all missions set for me."

Parilla shrugged, "We'll see. And you may be okay right now for the field, but how long before that changes? Years of this kind of work can take a toll. From what I know, you've been in this business far longer than most, and you're only nineteen."

"Don't act like my age changes anything," Natasha snarled. People constantly underestimated her due to her age and it rubbed her raw.

"It doesn't. Rather it makes me want to make sure that you're able to cope with the things you've seen and done and will see and do. You have a long time ahead of you still working, barring any tragic accidents. I understand you don't want to talk, but I need you to give me something so that I can at least allow you to continue training," Parilla said.

Natasha looked down, she really didn't want to talk to the psychologist, but this one was certainly better than the other two.

"So let's start with something easy, how are you liking SHIELD?"

Natasha shrugged, "I've only been here for a day. It's much better than my previous employers, although people don't seem to enjoy having me around very much."

"How do you feel about that?"

A smirk accompanied the shrug, it was time to see if Parilla could really handle the Black Widow, "I rather enjoy it. I would be losing my edge if people were comfortable with me around."

The doctor rolled her eyes and muttered to herself as she wrote down a few notes, "Builds walls through intimidation and fear in order to resist developing relationships with others."

Natasha smirked, so that's how this was going to go. She didn't have a problem playing the same game as the psychologist.

"I've heard you've been spending time with Agent Barton," Parilla said as though the session was a completely normal one. "He's the one that brought you in, saved your life really."

"You're fishing," Natasha accused.

"Maybe."

"I'll bite. Agent Barton was assigned by Fury to show me around base yesterday and to help with training the recruits who I've joined. So yes, yesterday and this morning I spent time with him."

"How do you feel about Agent Barton? You're going to be partners. He saved your life."

"He's decent enough, seems a bit naive. And as for the partners thing, we'll see. That may be what Fury wants but neither of us feel like it will be useful."

"You're ignoring my other comment. I've mentioned him saving you twice now," Parilla pointed out.

"So?"

"So that tells me you haven't come to terms with that fact. Perhaps you think he should have killed you, or you feel you ought to thank him."

Natasha shrugged noncommittally. She didn't know what to think, "He should have killed me, it was his job. Makes me wonder if he's really any good at doing his job."

"Some people would agree with you. Others—and I'm sure that number will increase—see it as him being very good at his job that instead of killing you he managed to bring you in as an agent. You're going to be very useful to SHIELD."

"You think so?" Natasha asked. She wondered what this woman knew that made her so certain.

"I do. See, I worked with Barton when he was first brought into SHIELD and I still see him when he's forced to come visit our department. Very few people thought he would succeed here and now he's one of our best. I have the same feeling about you that I had about him. So know that I'm rooting for you, and so is Barton. He wouldn't have brought you in unless he thought you were worth it."

Natasha frowned slightly, she wasn't used to people telling her they believed in her abilities, let alone supporting her. She didn't think she liked it much, suddenly she had even more people to prove right and because they supported her that meant she owed them. Natasha hated having debts but she always repaid them.

"Does Barton talk to you?"

"About personal issues? Rarely. If I'm lucky I'll get a sentence or two out of him. Usually he talks to his handler Phil Coulson, or he keeps quiet. But he gave me enough to clear him for fieldwork. Are you going to do the same?"

Natasha pondered that question, would she?

Parilla glanced at her watch, "We're done for today, but I'll see you again next week. This was a good session despite the rocky start with Monty and Windmere."

Natasha grinned evilly, "You really ought to have chosen who to send in here better."

Parilla shrugged, "Maybe I just wanted to see how you'd react to them."

* * *

That evening Natasha slipped out of dinner early when she saw Clint leaving after eating with Coulson. She followed him through the corridors of the base until he stopped outside a door and placed his hand on the small scanner next to it. Natasha realized as the door slid open and she caught a glimpse of a bed inside that she must be in the area where agents lived.

She had found Clint's room, now all she had to do was repay her debt. She hated owing people.

Natasha backtracked until she found a bathroom. Stepping inside she surveyed her reflection in the mirror. It would be better if she had some makeup, but her hair didn't look completely horrendous and the SHIELD provided tank top and pants did wonders for her figure. It wasn't the same as a nice gown but it would be enough to get Clint right where she wanted him.

Exiting the bathroom without a second glance she returned to the hallway outside of Clint's room. She pushed down "Natasha" in favor of her alter-ego, the Black Widow. Striding forward she rapped on the door three times then stepped back and waited.

She didn't have to wait long before Clint answered the door, sweats slung low on his hips and a towel in his hand. He had just gotten out of the shower, if the drops of water glistening on his torso and in his hair were anything to go by. Natasha had to admit that he was very attractive. She'd known he was muscled but it was completely different to actually see his abs and arms completely bared. It would make her goal easier since she found herself slightly attracted to him, something that rarely happened.

"Romanoff," he said, obviously taken aback by her appearance at his door.

"I wanted to talk to you," she practically purred.

Clint turned his head slightly in confusion but stepped out of the doorway, "Come on in then."

Natasha entered the small room as he moved towards a dresser in the far corner. She took a seat on his bed and watched as he dragged the towel over his chest and shoulders before rubbing his hair dry. Clint pulled a shirt out of the dresser and tossed it onto the bed. Natasha turned to examine the room before he caught her watching. Clothing was strewn everywhere and there were a few books tossed haphazardly on the small nightstand. For some reason the disorganization felt right for this man, everything about him was perfectly controlled yet full of energy. This space was where he let his control disappear.

"So what's up?" Clint asked as he moved to sit next to her on the bed.

"I wanted to...thank you...for saving my life," Natasha said slowly. She rose from the bed and stood in front of him, invading his space slightly. "I thought I could repay my debt to you."

Clint frowned slightly at her voice, it was pure silk. He had of course noticed that the Black Widow was gorgeous, anyone would. But he'd been able to ignore any and all desire he felt for her in favor of remaining professional. Having her here, in his room, and talking to him like that made it much harder to keep himself in check.

"You don't owe me anything," Clint said, hoping to end the conversation and get her out of the room.

"But I do." She moved so she was standing between his legs, reaching out to trail a finger down his still bare chest.

Clint shivered but didn't pull away, still unsure of her motives.

"So let me repay you," she whispered.

Suddenly she was in his lap pressing her lips against his and running her hands up and down his chest. Clint's brain shut down for a moment as his body reacted and he returned the kiss. Then his brain caught up, reminding him this was the Black Widow, the nineteen-year-old girl he'd just saved, his future partner. Sleeping with her was an absolutely terrible idea.

Clint pushed her off of him onto the bed and jumped to his feet. "What the fuck Romanoff?" he practically yelled.

Natasha sat up and glared at him.

"You think that I saved you because I wanted you to sleep with me? You think you have an obligation to have sex with me?"

Natasha stood up, "Why else would you save me? And I owe you."

"No," Clint said stepping back. "The only thing you owe me is to prove me right. I saved you because I believe there's still a human in that shell who wants to do the right thing. So prove it. Show me I'm right."

Natasha froze, confused. For years all men had wanted from her was her body or her skills, now this stranger was telling her all he wanted was for her to do the right thing, the thing she actually wanted to do? It was new and uncomfortable and she didn't know how to respond.

"Is this how it was with the Red Room? They'd make you sleep with marks and the men in the organization?" Clint asked shrewdly. He wasn't going to pull any punches when he was so pissed at her.

Natasha shrugged, "All men are the same, they just want sex."

"Well I don't. And SHIELD is different, you don't have to sleep with marks, you don't have to do anything you don't want to," Clint said softly.

She snorted in response, "Please." Her gaze moved pointedly to his crotch.

"I don't want to sleep with you. Yes, my body reacted when a beautiful woman threw herself into my lap and started kissing me. It doesn't mean I want sex from you," he said. "Now, it's probably best if you left now. Remember what I said. You don't owe me anything."

He moved to the door and opened it, gesturing for her to leave.

Natasha did so without a word. Her confusion remained but was slowly joined by anger. She didn't return to her room, instead she turned to the gym to find some sort of release for her emotions.

* * *

Fury was sitting at his desk when he received the compiled report of Romanoff's scores on the tests she'd taken. Opening it up his eyebrow arched in surprise; an IQ of 147, nearly perfect scores on the math and history exams, not so well on the science but still higher than most agents got. Her language report was phenomenal. The linguists guessed that she could pick up almost any language within a few days of being exposed to it just based on her ability to speak so many other languages.

What worried Fury was the psych report. She'd made the first two leave the room within ten minutes, both ended up in tears in front of Parilla. After that Parilla had gone in. It reminded him of when Barton had joined them, he hadn't made anyone cry but he'd certainly frustrated most of the psychologists he saw. Eventually Parilla had stepped in. Fury didn't know what deal had been struck between the two but suddenly Clint was more responsive and willing to visit psych. Hopefully Parilla could work her magic and get Romanoff ready as well.

Fury then turned to the report of her physical training, he'd seen part of it the morning when he watched her and Barton spar. It had been quite a sight to see, especially considering both were recovering from their previous assignments and she had several serious wounds. She'd wiped the floor with all of her other opponents and he knew that it wouldn't be long before Patrick was in front of him asking that she be taken out of his class.

Finally was the medical report. Due to doctor-patient confidentiality, he didn't know too much. Bottom line was that Romanoff had two bullet wounds and an arrow hole through her shoulder when she arrived at SHIELD. Sanders wrote about the serum and the interesting side effects that had manifested in her blood. Her white blood cell count was extremely high, and her DNA was able to repair itself almost impossibly fast.

Then was the full-body CT. All Fury had was the printed scan and he certainly wasn't a doctor, but Fury had seen enough scans to know how to read it fairly well. Romanoff had extreme amounts of scar tissue all throughout her body. Scarring inside of her abdomen seemed the worst but there were other places as well. It made Fury wonder what the Red Room had done to that girl, because that's what she was to him. Just a girl, albeit a very dangerous one who had seen more than most adults did in this field.

Fury closed the file in front of him and folded his hands into a single fist under his chin. Romanoff had promise, so much promise. But only if they could turn her into an actual human being and get rid of the mindless killing machine the Russians had created. It seemed so easy when put that way. Fury knew it would be anything but. Romanoff hadn't had anyone who cared about her in at least thirteen years as far as he knew. Based on Patrick, Sanders, and Parilla's reports though it sounded like she had several people at SHIELD hoping she would succeed. That was all it took for Barton to do it, maybe she could too.

Fury rose from his desk and left his office for the night. He knew that there would be more to deal with in the morning.

* * *

The next month of Natasha's training passed without too much happening. She still went to daily training with Patrick and then attended some lessons on SHIELD protocols, medical care in the field, and basics of espionage and covert operations. All of them were easy for her, she knew these things. The SHIELD protocols were occasionally ridiculous but she knew that she would be able to follow most of them in the field without too much effort.

Based on what she saw of Clint during those sessions, he didn't agree. She really should have expected it since he'd thrown the book out the window to recruit her. She ate alone at meals and barely spoke to her roommates, all of whom regarded her with caution, Stimson and Mogler with evident hatred. About once a week Clint would sit down with her at a meal and attempt to converse. He usually gave up after a few minutes.

After two weeks of just regular training she began working out with Coulson and Clint in the mornings before her sessions with Patrick and in the afternoons she'd end up going through more advanced training on SHIELD's protocols and covert operations. Mostly, Coulson seemed to use those sessions to try to get Clint and Natasha to bond as partners. It had been unsuccessful to this point.

Fury nearly groaned when Phil Coulson appeared in his office one afternoon, almost exactly a month after Romanoff had been recruited.

"You want them to be partners?" Phil asked as he walked in.

"Shut the door," Fury commanded, knowing they wouldn't want an audience for them.

"They aren't going to be partners, they don't trust each other enough and they're two completely different people. They have nothing in common and their operation styles? Direct opposites!" Phil raged. "I know he is trying but she isn't doing shit!"

Fury interrupted his tirade slightly, "I take it your talking about Romanoff and Barton."

The look Phil sent him as he collapsed into one of the chairs in the office answered the question.

"Phil, if we can get them to work together and work together well, they'll be the best SHIELD has ever seen," Fury reminded the other man.

"I've tried everything from blatant trust activities to training exercises. They can't work together!"

"What haven't you tried?"

"Short of making them live together? Nothing," Phil's answer was dejected. Then his posture changed as a though occurred to him. "Actually, that might not be a bad idea..."

"What's not a bad idea?" Fury asked, suddenly worried. When things were presented as "not a bad idea" they usually were a bad idea.

"Make them live together. They'll be forced to coexist."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, "Hawkeye and the Black Widow living together sounds like a terrible idea."

"Yeah, well you're the one that wants them to be partners, and don't partners at SHIELD share quarters with separate bathrooms and bedrooms but common living and kitchen space?" Phil pointed out.

"Technically yes, but it usually only happens after a partnership has formed and the agents know they can coexist and cohabit. That doesn't sound like Romanoff and Barton from what you've told me."

"Romanoff doesn't speak to her roommates. They're terrified of her and have complained several times about living with her. They've actually requested that she move to the other room of female recruits. Barton has a private room and I'm sure he'd like having a living area," Phil continued.

"Phil, there's a lot of tension between them. They may actually murder each other if we make them live together."

"Here's the deal: you clear them for partner housing or they don't become partners. There is nothing more I can do at this point," Phil said.

Fury sighed, "Are you sure? Nothing I can say will change your mind?"

"It has to happen."

"Fine, get me the paperwork."

"One last thing," Phil said. "She needs to be removed from Patrick's training class. She's too good to be going up against recruits all the time, I'll work with her one on one instead."

Fury nodded, "You're her handler so I'll go with what you say needs to be done."

* * *

Natasha sighed deeply as she sat down across from Clint in the briefing room Coulson had summoned them to. She didn't know why they needed to meet or why Coulson felt the need to be late to this. He knew she and Clint didn't get along very well.

Clint shot her a cheeky grin, "Romanoff, how's it going?"

She didn't bother to reply.

"I am doing quite well. In the two hours we've been apart I got some delicious food from the cafeteria, a burger again if you were wondering, and even managed to watch some TV. Managed to catch part of the Yankees game," he continued, ignoring her silence. "What about you?"

"Barton you know exactly what I've been doing, it's the exact same thing I've done everyday I've been here."

Clint shrugged, "That's too bad. Are you finally making friends? Broken down in a session with Dr. Parilla yet?"

Lesser men would have fled under the glare she gave him.

Coulson walked into the room, saving her from replying to Clint's questioning.

"Good, you're both here," he said.

"Indeed we are," Clint replied. "Why were you late?"

"I was picking some things up from Fury."

Natasha hid her curiosity, she still hadn't quite figured out the relationship between the Director and her handler.

"Please tell me we're going on a mission," Clint asked.

Phil scoffed, "Like they'd give you a mission right now. And anyway, Romanoff still isn't cleared for fieldwork."

"Then why are we here?" he continued. "I have the afternoon off Phil, can't you give me a break for once?"

"The two of you are here because there's going to be some changes. First off, Romanoff, you're done with basic training. You might still work with Patrick and his recruits on occasion, but otherwise you're done attending those sessions," Phil explained.

"Really?" Natasha said. She could hardly believe her luck, done with basic after only a month.

"Yes, it's clear that the recruits don't pose any challenge to you. There's no point in you remaining there. You'll be working more with Barton and I in private and you'll also spend time learning the finer points of working for SHIELD. We may even do some work on anti-interrogation."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, as though she needed help with anti-interrogation. She could resist any and all forms of torture, the Red Room had made sure of that.

"Now the second change is that you're both moving."

"Moving?" the assassins asked in unison, regarding Phil with suspicion in their eyes.

"With Romanoff no longer participating in basic training there's no point in having her remain in the recruit bunkrooms. Fury wants the two of you to be partners and it's obviously been a struggle for you both to learn to work together," Phil replied.

Clint narrowed his eyes, "No. I know what you're thinking and the answer's no."

Phil ignored him, turning to Natasha, "You may already know this Romanoff, but most partnerships in SHIELD share quarters. They have separate bedrooms and bathrooms but a common living and kitchen space."

Natasha started shaking her head. "I'd prefer to stay in the bunks if it's between that and the partner housing."

Phil glared at both of the agents, "Well too bad. Neither of you have a choice. You get to live together. Now, part of this arrangement includes the expectation from me that you begin taking meals together. And since you have a kitchen now I expect that you learn to make meals together. If I can't get you to bond in training I'll make you do it outside."

Clint groaned, "Seriously, Phil? This is a terrible idea."

"I don't really give a shit what either of you think," Phil replied. He pushed two pieces of paper across to Clint and Natasha. "This is your new living space. Congratulations, you move in today. So, go get your gear packed and moved into the room, oh and I'll see you both at dinner."

Phil stood and left the room without further comment.

Clint and Natasha looked at each other, openly upset with the other.

"Guess this makes the partnership official," Clint muttered.

Natasha's glance was venomous; "I don't like it anymore than you do."

The two rose and retreated to their own spaces, grabbing their meager belongings and heading to their new quarters.

* * *

Natasha arrived first, she knew that Clint's room was a disaster, it would take him longer to get things packed up and moved. Opening the door she entered the common space. Immediately in front of her was the living area, complete with empty bookshelves, a TV, and a couch. On the left was a small kitchen. Natasha moved farther into the space and saw there were two bedrooms on either side of the living room. She picked the one on the left.

Pushing the door open she had to admit it was better than the bunkrooms. A full size bed stood in the center of the room with a nightstand on one side of it. A dresser and bookcase stood against the walls. To the right of the door was a closet, and on the very far right another door leading into the bathroom.

It certainly wasn't lavish, but it was far more than she was used to. She'd only had so much space and furnishings while on missions, never anywhere that she was expected to live for an undetermined amount of time.

She dumped the bag of belongings on the center of the bed and sat down, looking around her. Everything had changed since she'd joined SHIELD, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

Natasha was shaken from her thoughts when the door to the main room opened and admitted Clint. He glanced around, giving Natasha a nod, before moving to the room on the right. Natasha relaxed slightly once he'd disappeared from view. She had no idea what to expect when living with him. Their relationship had been volatile from the beginning. In training, their sparring matches were violent and competitive, twice Phil had needed to intervene to stop them from causing serious injury. Outside of the gym all they did was argue, Clint seemed to take great pleasure in trying to bait her. Then there was the fact she had attempted to sleep with him. He had refused her then, but had he changed his mind?

Clint wasn't happy about the change to his living situation. He hadn't lived with another person (unless you counted missions with Phil, which he didn't) in four years. He hadn't lived in the same space as a woman since his mother died. Living with the Black Widow seemed to be a daunting task. He knew why Phil was making them do this, no one with eyes could have missed the conflict between the two assassins. They were supposed to be partners. That would require quite a bit of trust between them. Clint gave his room one more glance before squaring his shoulders and walking over to Natasha's room.

Natasha looked up at the gentle knock on her door. Clint stood in the doorway.

"Hey," he said softly. "We should talk."

Natasha nodded and moved over so there was room next to her at the end of the bed. Clint sat down in the empty space, "So..."

"So..." Natasha replied.

"I guess we're roommates now?" Clint said.

Natasha nodded, "Guess so."

"Listen, this doesn't have to be a bad thing," he continued.

She shrugged.

"Phil did this so we could start bonding. If we're going to be partners, which we are, we need to get along and trust each other."

"I know, but let's be honest Barton, we don't like each other."

Clint frowned slightly, "I never said I didn't like you. Sure you drive me insane and it's really fun to try to make to you mad, but that doesn't me I don't like you."

She shrugged again.

"Do you not like me?"

"Barton, I don't like anyone."

He chuckled, "Fair enough. But hopefully you must not like me a little less than everyone else?"

"I suppose that's fair, I can tolerate you."

"See we're making progress," he teased.

Natasha glared at him, earning a chuckle.

"Don't pretend you hate me, we both know it isn't true. You never would have agreed to living here with as little fuss as you did," he said.

Her indignant look told him his words had had the desired effect. "I do not fuss," she hissed.

He shrugged, "Whatever you say. Can we make a deal to be friends?" He held out his hand to her.

She didn't take it, "I've never had a real friend before. Most people who tried to befriend me ended up dead."

Clint lowered his hand, "Damn Romanoff, you're life has sucked. I thought mine was bad but I've had friends. Can we be friendly? Can we trust each other that much?"

Natasha hesitantly nodded, "Are we going to shake on it? Or shall we seal it with a kiss?"

Clint glared at her, "That needs to stop."

"What?"

"You trying to get me to sleep with you."

Natasha looked offended and opened her mouth to protest. He held up his hand to silence her.

"Don't take it personally. You are a very attractive woman and if we weren't going to be working together I'd be very tempted to. But we are, and you're a nineteen-year-old girl who has never had a friend in her life apparently. No offense, but I'm not going to make your life anymore complicated."

"I owe you," she murmured looking down.

Clint reached out, to do what he wasn't sure, but stopped short of actually touching her.

"You don't owe me anything. You especially don't owe me sex."

"You saved me," she said. "If not for you I'd be dead or back in the Red Room. It's the least I can do."

Clint ran his hand through his hair in frustration. She didn't seem to get it, and that angered him more than it should have. He'd been protective of her since she joined SHIELD, but he'd never let anyone see it. That she felt that she needed to have sex with him in order to "repay" him for saving her life was horrific. What had the Red Room done to her to create such twisted logic in her mind.

"I still say you don't owe me anything, but if you feel like you do you can repay me by doing the best you can to prove I was right to bring you in."

Natasha nodded, still not totally understanding the man in front of her. She didn't know how to be a friend, how to have a friend, and she certainly couldn't fathom why he wouldn't want sex as payment. Nevertheless she found herself wanting to understand, to be his friend.

"I don't trust easily," she said.

"Neither do I," he replied, holding out his hand. "I've been burned too many times to blindly trust everyone. There's just something about you, Romanoff, I know you're worth the risk."

Natasha took his hand this time and looked directly into his eyes for the first time since they'd met. She'd gotten the impression that he could see into her soul during that first meeting and that belief only grew firmer now. His blue-gray eyes were filled with emotion as he gazed at her, not lust or anger like she was used to in the eyes of men, but trust. He believed in her, trusted her. No one had done that in years. Suddenly she realized that she may not like him much but that she was going to try her damnedest to prove him right.

Clint rose from the bed, still holding Natasha's hand tight, "Now that we've established that, it's time for dinner!"

He released her hand as he walked out of the room, beckoning her to follow him. She did so, hiding her feelings. How he could bounce from one emotion to the other, she didn't know. Clint Barton was a good man, she decided, despite being such a mystery.

* * *

Coulson watched as the two assassins walked into the cafeteria side by side. They grabbed their food then sat down across from the man, Clint staring at the woman in shock.

"Wait, so you're telling me you've never seen the Black Cauldron?"

"Barton, I grew up in a top secret Russian training facility, what makes you think I've seen any children's movies?"

Clint frowned, "Okay, you make a valid point. But really, no Disney movies?"

"None."

"We'll fix that."

Phil smirked to himself at the exchange, it looked like his plan was already working. This was the first civil exchange he'd ever heard them have.

* * *

Clint and Natasha were kept too busy over the next two months with training and various tasks around base to have time for Clint to show her any Disney movies. Natasha did manage to get a computer and phone from SHIELD during that time, proving that they were starting to trust her.

The only reason she hadn't been cleared for duty was because of the psychology department. Dr. Parilla still hadn't deemed her fit for fieldwork.

Fury placed the mission briefing on the desk in front of him and looked up to face Phil Coulson and Jennifer Parilla. "They need a mission or there's no point in keeping them as agents," he explained. "Agent Coulson, do you think they're both ready for fieldwork?"

Coulson shrugged, "Honestly, the only way I'll know for sure is if we send them into the field. This is the perfect opportunity and will help solidify their partnership. They're starting to trust each other but there's only so much I can do to make it a stronger trust while still on base."

Fury nodded, "Dr. Parilla, the only reason Romanoff hasn't been cleared for duty is because you haven't deemed her fit."

Parilla spoke firmly, "Director, she barely responds to my questions about how her week has been. I don't know how mentally stable she is. I can't clear her if I don't know what's going on. Based on the little bit of information I do have, she's had a terrible life and it's a miracle she can function as it is."

Coulson looked at the doctor, "I remember Clint was much the same, except you were more willing to let him go. Why was that?"

She sighed, "Barton had spent more time here than she has. He'd developed something of a bond with you and I knew that would help him in the field. You'll recall that my signature was conditional."

Coulson nodded, "Of course, but you haven't seen her around Clint, they're slowly building a relationship. Wouldn't testing that relationship in the field help it solidify? It would give her something to hold on to."

"I suppose..." Parilla said. "I'll clear her so long as she continues coming to sessions with me when she's not on missions. The moment I think something is wrong she gets removed from the field."

The two men nodded as she reached out and the signed the necessary forms, "And I want to meet with her before you all leave."

Natasha and Clint found themselves standing outside of Fury's office at Coulson's behest. He apparently had something dreadfully important to tell them, yet he was still in the office ten minutes after he'd told them to appear.

Clint had pulled a rubber band and piece of paper out of his pocket after two minutes of waiting and begun preparing small projectiles to launch at the SHIELD employees in the main control room. Natasha nearly groaned. She'd been forced to spend almost all of her time aside from sleeping with the man and had come to realize that he had the attention span of a gnat if it wasn't something for the job, then his patience appeared to infinite.

When the first agent looked up, slapping a hand to his forehead in shock at the sudden sting, Natasha merely rolled her eyes. The next two didn't faze her at all. The fourth began swearing violently, looking around to find out who was doing it. Clint remained deadly focused on his task as Natasha watched in silence.

The fifth target was a nerdy looking woman who actually started to cry when the projectile smacked into her head. Natasha couldn't help but smirk at it, she hoped the woman never had to experience getting punched or shot, she probably wouldn't survive. Clint took aim at the cursing man again and released the projectile just as the door next to them opened.

It was impressive, Natasha thought, how quickly he managed to hide the evidence from their superiors.

"Barton," Fury glared at the man. "What did you do to my control room?"

"Nothing," he replied with an innocent look on his face.

Fury snorted, "I doubt that." He nodded to Coulson and Natasha before stepping back inside his office and closing the door.

"Come on," Coulson said to the two, already exhausted just from thinking about what chaos Clint had been in the process of causing. He'd been on his best behavior for the last three months but that wasn't going to last for much longer. Thank god he'd gotten them a mission. "We're going to Briefing Room 2."

Clint and Natasha exchanged curious glances before following the man over to the hallway of rooms.

"So what's up Phil?" Clint asked as he took a seat.

Coulson slid files across the table to each of his agents, "You've got yourselves a mission?"

Natasha frowned, "I didn't think I'd been cleared by Parilla yet."

"You were cleared yesterday, but it's conditional. You still have to attend sessions with her and she expects to see you before we leave," Phil explained.

Clint was grinning, "Finally! We can get off this base! Where're we going?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at his exuberance and opened the file in front of her.

Andre Lozano, head of the Lozano drug cartel had been causing problems in León, Mexico according to the file.

Clint groaned as he read the information on the first page of the report, "Really Phil? Mexico? In August?"

Phil shrugged, "You should be happy you get anything at all."

Clint opened his mouth to reply then thought better of it; Phil had a point.

"You're job is simple," Phil explained. "Eliminate Lozano. The cartel hasn't grown too big yet and if we can get rid of him we will be able to stop it from growing."

Natasha finally spoke, "I don't mean to be impertinent but isn't this a bit below our abilities?"

Phil smirked, "It is. That's why you're getting it. Consider it a trial run. Screw this up and you can both expect another couple months on base."

The assassins exchanged looks before turning back to their handler.

"Learn the report, your covers are inside. Let me know if you have any questions. Wheels up at 0700 hours. I expect both of you in the hangar and ready to go tomorrow morning. You can tell me your plan then. Romanoff, make sure you talk to Parilla before we leave," Coulson commanded as he swept out of the room.

Natasha looked at Clint, raising her eyebrows at his slight frown.

"Phil usually spends more time going over the briefing and coming up with a strategy," he said with a shrug.

"Why didn't he this time?" Natasha asked. She hadn't clicked with their handler and knew he still didn't like her. She doubted he would do anything to compromise a mission because of that dislike, especially if it would put Clint in danger. She didn't know how to react to Coulson's treatment of this mission.

Clint shrugged again, "I'm not sure, I mean it is a simple mission. He wants us to come up with a plan so maybe he's testing us?"

It was Natasha's turn to frown.

"Shall we?" Clint asked as he stood, holding up his report.

Natasha rose and followed him back to their rooms, mind already beginning to plan a strategy for the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please take the time to review, reviews make me happy!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "So I don't speak Russian," Phil said casually. "But I take it you said something that offended her."
> 
> Clint ran his hand through his hair in distress, "She started it."


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Karolina 94 and 2sassyformyowngood for reviewing!

_Red Room, Unknown Location—2000_

Natalia shivered as the guards led her through the halls of the Red Room. It was long past midnight and the concrete walls did little to maintain the minimal heat allowed on during the day. In summer the facility remained cool, but in the cold winter, staying too long without moving would often result in violent shivers.

It was early January, the New Year had just turned. Natalia remembered the celebration the guards had the week before. She and a couple of the other girls had snuck out to spy on the guards. Many of the guards were worried about what they called Y2K. From what Natalia had gleaned, they thought the world would come to an end and the computers would all malfunction.

Obviously that hadn't happened, now the guards were back to focusing on the girls they watched.

Natalia hated being summoned to training in the middle of the night. It never boded well for her.

They didn't say anything as they shoved her through the door.

Suddenly Natalia was no longer cold. She faced a thick jungle, complete with humidity, hanging vines, and animal noises. The door slammed shut behind her with a loud thud, startling her slightly. Natalia quickly hid her surprise, knowing that she might be being watched.

She stepped farther into the jungle, remaining wary as she pushed aside the dangling vines. Natalia realized this was a test and that she really didn't want to fail it. A brightly colored bird flitted across the space in front of Natasha, startling her.

Well that answered one question, the animals were in fact real. But were there dangerous ones in the jungle? That Natalia didn't know.

The trees and vines grew thicker as she walked farther into the jungle and more flora on the ground began to appear. Natalia focused on where she walked, refusing to be injured due to stupidity. She wished she'd been allowed to put on shoes and more appropriate attire, but she hadn't dared ask for anything when the guards woke her up. Five and half years in the Red Room meant you understood the rules and expectations.

Natalia found herself wishing for less clothing at the same time she wished for more. She was wandering through a jungle in a long sleeve thermal shirt and matching black yoga pants. The outfit was meant to let her survive through winter nights in Russia. The shirt clung to her thin frame tightly.

Thinking back on her life (as much as she could remember of it before the Red Room anyway) Natalia realized this was her first experience with extreme heat. Sure, she'd spent cold winters outside in the snow, but the heat was new. She shoved her sleeves up and kept pushing through the jungle.

The back of her neck began to prickle as she sensed some sort of impending danger. Natalia looked around in search of a weapon of some sort. Ideally, she would have received at least a knife before being sent in here. Instead she had nothing. She found a long, sturdy branch lying on the ground about twenty feet further into the jungle.

Continuing on the path she'd chosen, hoping to reach the end of the room before whatever was coming found her, Natalia found a cluster of rocks, perfectly sized for throwing. She now stood in a slight clearing, maybe six feet wide. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing almost straight up. Whatever stalked her was close.

Natalia stopped at the pile and moved to have a solid tree at her back. She would make her stand here. Quickly, she picked up what appeared to be the sharpest rock and began chipping away at the end of her stick. Her goal to make it as sharp as possible before the threat arrived.

The chirping birds she'd heard ever since entering the room had quieted by now. Whatever the threat was, it was close.

Natalia gave up sharpening the stick, she had a decent enough point, perhaps not sharp but still pointed.

A low snarl was all the warning Natalia received before the shadow launched itself at her from a tree across the way.

She reacted on pure instinct rolling to her left and throwing one of the stones directly at the shape. It rolled across the ground before rising with an angry hiss. Natalia held her spear up defensively as she examined the creature in front of her.

Jet black fur, rounded ears, and a long tail were part of the lithe body, tensed to spring at her. Yellow eyes glared out from a face as the feline's mouth opened into a snarl, revealing sharp fangs perfect for capturing prey.

Natalia swallowed. She'd never had to face a wild animal with nothing more than a stick and some rocks. She'd always had some sort of weapon before.

The panther launched itself at her again and she moved again, this time jabbing at the creature as she leapt to the side. She landed a glancing blow, which did little more than to spite it. It was angry now.

The cat was about three and half feet long with an additional foot and a half of tail. Its shoulders stood about two feet off the ground. Natalia called upon any knowledge she had of the feline in order to gauge its style and threat. Panthers didn't weigh much, that much she knew for sure. They may be big but they were mostly bone and muscle. So long as she could keep it from overpowering her she'd be okay.

This time she started the attack, throwing another rock at the cat, striking it hard on the nose. It charged at her, even more upset than it had been before.

Natalia held her ground and caught the cat against the spear she held with both hands in front of her body. Using the stick as leverage she managed to keep the cat off of her as it threw all of its weight against her.

Natalia jerked the stick to her left, unbalancing the cat and throwing it off her. She grabbed another rock and charged forward to where the cat was rolling to its feet. Stabbing forward with the spear, she managed to land a solid blow to the cat's shoulder. Then she swung her hand with the rock around and smacked the cat on the head. Dazed, it stumbled back before shaking its head and charging once again.

Dropping to one knee, Natalia braced the spear against the dirt, pointed end directed at the charging cat. The creature was angry and hurt, it didn't notice the dangerous piece of wood pointing at its heart and leapt directly onto it, driving the point between its ribs.

Natalia held on against the force thrashing against her spear, wincing at the strangled yowls of pain the creature emitted. There was nothing she could do besides wait for the cat to die. A few minutes later it quieted and stilled.

She dropped the spear and let the animal's carcass fall to the ground. Then she stood and pulled off her shirt, glad she chose to sleep in her sports bra. She used the shirt to gather up some of the rocks left and continued through the jungle.

Natalia felt a fleeting moment of pity when she passed the panther's body, the creature had been brought here solely for the purpose of dying.

The pity quickly turned to annoyance when she felt sweat slide down her forehead. Her throat tightened painfully as she tried to swallow, dry from lack of water. Natalia hated the hot weather.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2007_

Phil stood at the bottom of the ramp to the jet waiting for his agents to show up. They only had two more minutes, he thought to himself as he glanced at his watch. At his feet sat two cups of coffee and a bag with several bagels in it from Clint's favorite bakery in New York. Phil knew his agents hadn't been off the base in just over three months and figured they would enjoy having a meal other than one they'd prepared in their kitchen or from the cafeteria. The bagels and coffee would be a nice treat, at least it would be for Clint. If he was totally honest he had no idea what Romanoff liked.

Phil looked at his watch. He took another sip of his own coffee. This mission didn't sit well with him, they weren't ready. Well, Clint was, but he wasn't ready to work with Romanoff and she wasn't ready as far as Phil was concerned. He didn't trust her in the field, especially not to have Clint's back.

He forced his thoughts to stop when he watched Romanoff slink into the hangar. She was dressed in black cargo pants, tank top, and jacket with a black bag slung over her shoulder. Her red hair cascaded down her back and her green eyes were hard. He had to admit, she was beautiful.

Phil nodded to her and picked up one of the coffees at his feet, holding it out to her, "I grabbed coffee. I wasn't sure how you liked yours so it's plain, but there's cream and sugar in the bag along with bagels."

Natasha nodded, "Thanks."

"Have you seen Barton this morning?" Phil asked casually. He wondered if the agents were sleeping together, everyone on base did.

"No. I heard him moving around though," she replied before turning away to watch the entrance.

A few seconds later, Barton sauntered through the door, pulling his quiver and bag over his shoulder more securely. His face morphed into an easy grin when he saw Phil and Natasha standing waiting for him, then his eyes lit on the coffee and bag at Phil's feet. "Phil, please tell me that coffee's for me."

Phil smirked, "That coffee's for you. And there're bagels in the bag."

Clint's eyes widened, "From that place on 29th?"

Phil just nodded before leading the way onto the jet.

"Romanoff, you've got to try these. Best bagels I've ever had," Clint gushed as he grabbed his coffee and the bag before following them onto the plane.

Natasha shrugged in non-response as she took a seat across from Phil. Clint sat next to her and began rummaging in the bag. He pulled out the cream and sugar, setting them to the side, then grabbed one of the bagels, he sniffed it before passing it over to Phil, commenting "Raisin for the freaky health nut."

Clint then looked into the bag and turned to Natasha, "Looks like we've got a plain, two chocolate chip, and a poppy seed left. What do you want Romanoff?"

She shrugged, "I'm good."

"Have chocolate chip," Clint commanded as he shoved the bagel into her hand, ignoring her protest. "Oh and there's cream cheese if you want any. Phil?"

Phil nodded and accepted the container and knife passed his way. Clint grabbed his own container and began lathering the spread onto his chocolate chip bagel. Natasha sat, sipping her coffee slowly as she watched the two men. Clearly she was an intruder on a well established ritual.

Phil finished his bagel a few minutes later and looked over at his two agents, "What's the plan?" he asked.

Natasha swallowed her last bite of bagel—she had to admit it was pretty good—and glanced at Clint. He didn't even look up, just continued to eat. She shrugged and looked at Coulson, "The file says Lozano likes to hang out at a local bar and that he often takes women back to his house with him. We'll do surveillance for a couple of days to make sure this is correct, then I'll go in and get him to take me back. Barton will be in position and we'll eliminate him."

Phil nodded and looked at Clint.

"What she said," Clint replied. "The only reason we're going to do some extra surveillance is to make sure our intel is correct."

"Are you both running surveillance?" Phil asked.

The assassins shrugged and Clint answered, "Probably, we don't want to miss anything."

"Sounds like a solid enough plan," Phil commented before leaning back in his seat. "I'm going to get some sleep."

Clint and Natasha spent the rest of the six-hour flight in silence. Clint napped for a bit, while Natasha remained alert and studying the file on her lap.

* * *

_León, Mexico—2007_

As Clint had predicted, León, Mexico was hot. He had failed to guess the humidity that assaulted them as they exited the air-conditioned jet and stepped onto the blacktop, glistening in the blinding sunlight. It was around noon when they landed and standing outside couldn't be described as pleasant. Like Natasha, Clint had on an all black cargo ensemble while Phil wore his characteristic suit—Natasha had never seen him out of it except when he was participating in training.

A black SUV stood waiting for them. Phil felt under the rim of the back passenger side tire to find the keys and moved to take the driver's seat. Clint rode shotgun while Natasha slid into the back. They left the tarmac and headed to the safe house they would inhabit for the foreseeable future.

The house SHIELD had acquired for them sat two miles away from Lozano's and three miles from the bar he frequented. Intel suggested that Lozano used the bar as the main office of his smuggling business as well as for social ventures. The safe house was small and slightly ramshackle. They had a bathroom, kitchen, living room, and single bedroom with three cots set up inside of it.

Clint and Natasha dropped their bags onto two of the cots in the bedroom then moved to the kitchen table where Phil was setting up their surveillance supplies. He spread a map across the space and marked three locations on it; their safe house, Lozano's house, and the bar.

"Is there anything to eat around here?" Clint asked, opening the fridge and cupboards in the kitchen.

Phil shrugged, "I'm sure there are some MREs around here somewhere."

Clint made a face at the suggestion, "In that case I'll go get us some food."

Phil looked up from his work, "I don't want you out in the city alone. Not until we get a sighting on Lozano."

Clint frowned, "Really Phil? I can get food on my own, I'm not a child."

"I'll go with you," Natasha interjected, sensing a brewing fight between the two men.

They both turned to look at her in surprise, "This way we can start looking for Lozano and I make sure you get food that I'll eat."

Clint nodded, "Fine."

Phil was slower to react but eventually gave his assent as well, "Go, but be back soon."

Natasha and Clint changed into more casual clothing and headed out to find food. By unspoken agreement they walked towards Lozano's, hoping to get lucky and find him.

Clint slipped into a small restaurant without warning. Natasha raised an eyebrow, wondering why he'd chosen this one over any of the others they'd passed. He smiled at her, "Smells good."

That was his process? she mused. Hopefully it worked.

Clint stepped up to the counter and smiled at the young girl working it. She blushed under the man's gaze, "¿Hola señor, qué quieres hoy día?"  _(Hello sir, what would you like today?)_

"Hola señorita, queremos tres de los fiambre estilo San Miguel de Allende y seis de las enchiladas mineras," he replied smoothly. Looking at Natasha to see if she objected to his order. She gave a slight nod _. (Hello miss, we want three of the fiambre estilo San Miguel de Allende and six of the enchiladas mineras.)_

The girl nodded, "Pues aquí o para llevar?"  _(For here or to-go?)_

"Para llevar, gracias," Clint handed over some pesos to the girl. She quickly counted out some change for him, which he gestured for her to keep.  _(To-go, thank you.)_

"Gracias señor, uno momento por favor," she responded, practically beaming. She turned to speak to the woman in the kitchen behind her in rapid Spanish _. (Thank you sir, one moment please.)_

Natasha snorted softly, "Poor girl didn't realize she'd have a crazy American flirt with her today."

Clint glared, "I am not crazy, crazy handsome maybe, but not just crazy."

Natasha nearly punched him in the face just to see how he'd react to having his "crazy handsome" visage damaged.

The girl stepped into the back to help prepare the food for the two assassins.

"So no sign of Lozano," Natasha murmured, her voice nearly silent.

Clint shook his head, "No. But we've only been out for a bit. We'll do some recon tonight and see what we can see."

The girl returned to the counter with two bags of food for Clint and Natasha, "¡Espero qué tu tengas un buen día!"  _(I hope you have a nice day!)_

Clint gave her a cheery wave as he left the restaurant behind Natasha. They meandered back to the safe house, staying alert for any signs of Lozano or his operation.

Phil sat at the table when the arrived, he looked up at them. "That took a while," he chastised.

Clint rolled his eyes, "We weren't even gone for an hour. We found a really good restaurant."

Natasha smirked, "How would you know? We haven't even tasted the food yet."

He looked offended, "I know because—"

"Because the girl working the counter was pretty? You realize she can't be more than fifteen?" she interrupted him.

Phil watched the exchange with a slight frown, it seemed like there was something he was missing.

"Romanoff, отпустить ее," he warned.  _(Drop it.)_

"Вы, похоже, не заботится о ее возрасте, но она моложе меня," she snarled back.  _(You didn't seem to care about her age, yet she's younger than me.)_

"Она не предлагает спать со мной," he snapped, voice dangerously low.  _(She wasn't offering to sleep with me.)_

Natasha practically growled, she turned and stalked to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

"So I don't speak Russian," Phil said casually. "But I take it you said something that offended her."

Clint ran his hand through his hair in distress, "She started it." He started pulling the food out of the bags before taking a seat and starting to eat.

Phil shrugged, "Like I said, I don't understand what happened. She isn't my partner."

Clint groaned and swallowed his food, "Damn it Phil." He stood and grabbed another platter of food for Natasha then walked over to the bedroom. He didn't knock, just opened the door and shut it behind him.

Phil went ahead and began eating some of the food that had been left, watching the room curiously. He'd hoped that there wasn't any attraction between the pair. He'd hoped that he wouldn't have to worry about them breaking SHIELD fraternization laws. He'd really hoped that Clint would remember her age and the fact that she was the Black Widow. Hell, he still hoped, but now he had to start planning for his hopes to be dashed.

"Leave." Natasha's voice left no room for argument yet Clint refused to back down.

"Hey, it's my room too," he quipped as he set the food onto his cot.

She rose from her cot and moved to the door, "Then I'll leave."

Clint stepped directly in front of her, "No."

She went to get around him, furious when he blocked her again. She shoved his chest, hard, "Move."

Clint took a step forward to recover from the push, invading her personal space, "No. We need to talk."

He watched her debate her options, attempt to leave or cooperate. Her body relaxed slightly as she stepped back to sit on her cot.

"Fine, talk."

Clint didn't feel like she was going to be very open during this discussion, "I brought you some food." He forced a plate into her hands.

She stared at it for a moment before setting it to the side.

Clint sighed as he took a seat next to her, "I'm sorry."

She shrugged.

"Natasha," he murmured.

Her head jerked around, he'd never used her first name. No one ever used her first name. She hated to admit it but she liked the way he said it, as if it was something to be cherished. No one had treated her like she mattered in over a decade, now Clint was doing just that.

"Please, can we talk about this?" he asked, looking at her.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry for hurting your feelings."

She bristled beside him, "My 'feelings' are not hurt!"

"Okay, I didn't hurt your feelings, but I obviously offended you," he said. "So let's start with what the problem is. You're still mad at me for not sleeping with you."

She didn't refute his statement.

"Think about what you told me about why you were going to sleep with me."

She glared at him, "I don't like owing people."

"I meant what I said, you don't owe me anything."

"You saved my life," she said.

Clint huffed a laugh humorlessly, "You don't understand, I didn't do it to save you. Maybe you don't know this, but I spent a year as a contract assassin before I worked for SHIELD. I killed a lot of good people during that time. Since joining SHIELD, I've made sure that every kill I've made was because the person was a bad guy or it was in self defense. I didn't see you as evil and out of pure selfishness I didn't take the shot. I can't have more innocent blood in my ledger."

Natasha looked at him, "You've read my file. You really think I'm innocent?"

"Natasha," it was the second time he'd used her first name. "I saw a girl who was turned into a killer and had never known another life. You didn't choose this, to me that makes you an innocent victim."

She bowed her head, "I've killed more people than you, and for less reason. I killed some of the girls in the Red Room with me. I am not innocent."

He shrugged, "Maybe not, but you certainly can't be held as responsible for your actions. I hate to tell you, but you're broken. But so am I and maybe that's how we'll be able to work together. I get that your life hasn't been pleasant. But that doesn't mean I want you to sleep with me because you feel like you owe me something."

Natasha was silent for several seconds, "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Be the good guy, have a partner, be indebted to you."

Clint didn't know how to respond, "You're already doing the first two things just fine. And as for being indebted to me, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree. Just promise me something, no more seduction attempts? I don't think I'll be able to resist as kindly the next time."

Natasha nodded in silence, "Okay."

"Now that that's settled," Clint said as he stood up. "Can we eat?"

She rolled her eyes at the man but nodded anyway. They both picked up their food and moved back into the main room. Phil watched them warily, unsure as to what had transpired in the room.

"Tonight I vote we go watch Lozano," Clint said. "We'll just keep an eye on him and make sure the intel is correct."

Natasha nodded, "Works for me."

"Are you both going?" Phil asked.

Clint shrugged, "I don't see why we wouldn't."

He received a simple nod in return from his handler.

"When are we heading out?" Natasha asked.

"After dinner," Phil said firmly. "Until then we'll make sure we've got everything we need. Romanoff, I know you haven't had much time for shopping, do you have any clothes other than combat ready ones?"

She looked at him, "You mean do I have anything that will help me get Lozano alone?"

Phil shrugged, he hadn't wanted to say it outright.

"I don't," she replied with a smirk, sensing the other man's discomfort. "But I'm a trained seductress so I don't need anything special. I can get him alone with no problem."

Phil shook his head, "No, we'll make sure you have clothes that you prefer. Tomorrow we'll find some. SHIELD gave me the company card so we're set."

Clint grinned, "I love when they give us the company card. It happens so rarely..."

Phil smacked Clint on the back of his head gently, "It happens so rarely because you like to take advantage of it."

"I do not!" Clint replied, indignant.

Phil smirked, "What about in Quebec? Or Nagasaki? Or that time in South Africa?"

Clint waved his hand, "Okay, okay, I may have used it occasionally for things not technically allowed..."

Phil snorted, "Occasionally?"

* * *

Clint and Natasha left the safe house around 1730 that night, having eaten an early dinner and tested the comm links they had. Phil struggled to hide his worry from them when they left. He had to trust that Clint could take care of himself and that Natasha wouldn't do anything to betray them.

Lozano was just as predictable as the file had suggested. He ate a meal in his house (the largest in the area) with his security team. Then he would head over to the bar and conduct business while socializing. There were plenty of young women to hold his interest for the night before he picked one and brought her home with him.

The assassins returned to the safe house after Lozano had returned to his home, assuming (correctly) he would remain in the building for the rest of the night. Phil, Clint, and Natasha each caught a few hours of sleep in the time remaining before the sun rose. Phil woke several times to one of his agents tossing in their sleep, obviously plagued by nightmares. He was used to dealing with Clint's but he had no idea what to do with the Black Widow if she woke up. Fortunately, he didn't have to help either of them deal with the demons of their pasts.

After eating a quick breakfast the next morning, Clint went to sit on Lozano. Phil and Natasha were going shopping, something Natasha began dreading the moment it was mentioned. Coulson didn't like or trust her. There was no way they would have a pleasant experience.

"Let's get going," Phil commanded her a few minutes after Clint left.

She rose from her seat and regarded the man in front of her, "And where exactly are we going?"

He shrugged, "You went out yesterday, surely you noticed somewhere selling clothing."

"It wasn't my first concern, but I think I remember a few shops," she replied.

Phil nodded and gestured to the door, "Lead the way."

Natasha was right: it wasn't pleasant at all. Coulson refused to let her out of his sight, even asking her to keep the curtain open when she went to change. She nearly punched him for that. Luckily for Phil, the shop owner insisted that Natasha change behind the screen.

They eventually managed to pick out three different wraps and a couple of tank tops for Natasha to wear. She already had some jeans to wear the wraps over. By the time they returned to the safe house they were exhausted and cranky.

"How was shopping?" Clint's voice drawled when Phil radioed to check in with him.

Natasha's snort was all the answer he needed.

"We found some clothes, what's Lozano up to?" Phil replied evenly.

"He's eating breakfast. The girl he brought back was just shown out the back door by the maid. Guy's a wimp, can't even face his one night stand in the morning," Clint remarked.

Natasha glanced at Phil and made up her mind, "I'm about to leave to switch with you. You need a break, Barton."

Phil opened his mouth to protest but one look at the woman stopped him. He wasn't going to risk his life over this.

* * *

If Clint hadn't been expecting Natasha to arrive he would have shot at her, she turned up so suddenly.

"Go," she commanded as she dropped down next to him.

He rolled onto his side to look at her, "Romanoff, what did you do to Phil?"

"Nothing," she replied, voice void of emotion. "He's the one who demanded I try on clothes with the dressing room curtain open."

Clint's jaw dropped.

"The shop owner wouldn't allow it, but I think it's clear he doesn't like or trust me."

"Phil wanted you to...?" Clint's words came out nearly stuttered. He was in shock.

She shrugged, "Other people have demanded more and worse of me."

"You don't have to put up with that," Clint hissed. "I'll talk to him."

"I don't need you to talk to him."

"Never said you did, but I will because like it or not you two are stuck together. It would be kind of nice if you could actually get along a bit," Clint replied easily. "So you know protocol? Call if Lozano moves or anything changes."

Natasha nodded, "Will do."

"I'll be back in a couple hours," Clint told her before jumping to his feet and running the length of the rooftop and launching himself onto the next one.

Natasha settled down into a crouch to wait for Lozano to do something interesting.

Two hours passed before Lozano made to leave the house. His security team—made up of a dozen beefy thugs who appeared to have next to no formal combat training—prepared a vehicle for him and escorted the man out to it.

Natasha tapped the earpiece she wore, "We've got movement."

"Explain," Coulson demanded quickly.

"Lozano and his security team are leaving the house now. I don't know where they're going but I'm about to start following them," she responded quickly.

"Wait for Barton to arrive," Phil ordered.

The car began to move away from the house.

"Sorry, but if I do that we lose him. I'll keep Barton in the loop as to my location and he can catch up or meet me when they stop," Natasha said before darting off.

"Damnit," Phil swore. He knew she wasn't technically breaking protocol by following, in fact he should be telling her to follow. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from doubting her.

Clint swung his bow over his head and made sure it and his quiver weren't going to jostle him too much as he ran. He threw a sarcastic salute at Phil before bolting out the door. "Romanoff, where are you?" he demanded as he ran.

"Two blocks east and seven blocks north of Lozano's house, they're headed north."

He nodded although she couldn't see him, "Let me know if the direction changes."

"Copy."

Clint sprinted across the rooftops; he didn't want to leave Natasha alone while in pursuit just in case she ended up spotted. He didn't think it was likely, but better safe than sorry, especially on this first mission.

"We're headed east again, nine blocks past the last intersection I gave you," Natasha radioed.

"Copy," Clint adjusted his course slightly, pulling up the mental map of the city he'd memorized. They seemed to be heading towards the outskirts, an area made up of mostly warehouses.

"Hey Romanoff," he said. "I think they're headed to the warehouse district of the city."

"Seems to fit the current trajectory. You want to head there? You may be able to get there around the same time we do if you take another route."

Clint thought for a moment, "Yeah, I'll tell you when I get there. Let me know if they change direction again and I need to come back."

She didn't reply, which Clint chose to interpret as confirmation.

Twenty minutes of running later Clint neared the warehouses. He paused at the edge of the area, knowing that he would lose a lot of cover once he dropped down. A man all in black with a bow and quiver over his back wasn't exactly inconspicuous. He hoped that Natasha arrived soon.

"I'm here," he said to her.

"White SUV pulling into the southwest corner."

Clint moved south, towards the area she'd told him. He caught sight of the SUV and watched it wend its way through the buildings.

"Got him," Clint said. "They're stopping."

"I see, where are you?"

"Two buildings west of Lozano's," he said. "You coming to join me or are we staying separate?"

A dull thump on the roof provided his answer. Natasha stalked towards her partner, looking as though she'd taken a pleasant stroll, not run several miles across rooftops in the middle of the afternoon in Mexico. Then again, he didn't look like he had either.

Natasha leaned down to watch the scene unfolding in front of them. Lozano had exited the vehicle in order to meet the man emerging from the warehouse. They shook hands and spoke for a few minutes before moving into the warehouse.

"That was boring," Clint mused. "All they did was exchange pleasantries and now they're going to examine the 'goods.'"

Natasha gave him a questioning look.

He shrugged, "I read lips."

"So that's where he keeps his supply of drugs?" Natasha said, a mischievous look appearing in her eyes.

"Something tells me I'm going to like what you're thinking," Clint grinned.

"It would be a shame if something happened to it..." she said.

The chuckle that rose out of Clint could only be described as malicious.

"Hey Coulson," he said as he turned on his comms unit.

"What do you got Hawk?"

"We found Lozano's storage warehouse. The Widow suggested we destroy it, thoughts?" Clint smirked.

There was a long pause before Coulson responded, "The mission parameters don't discuss anything beyond eliminating Lozano, however they also require that we put an end to the cartel. Do as you see fit but make sure that it doesn't compromise the ultimate mission goals."

"We're out, talk to you when we've got a plan," Clint said.

He turned to face Natasha, "So, what's the plan?"

"We need to get inside the building before I can say for sure, but fire is usually effective," Natasha replied.

Clint nodded, "We don't go inside until Lozano is out."

"And one of us needs to stay on him until we have a chance to take him out," Natasha finished his thought. "I'll do the warehouse."

"Don't put anything in motion until later, tonight is surveillance only," Clint warned.

She gave him a scathing glance, "Do you really think I'm so incompetent that I can't take out a warehouse of drugs on my own?"

He shook his head, "No. We're both new to this partner thing and I think we need to take it slow. We can't mess up, especially not on our first mission."

* * *

Natasha sat above the warehouse for a while after Lozano and his coworkers left. He'd only spent thirty minutes or so inside before departing. Clint followed them back through the city, contacting Coulson as he went and informing him of their decision to take out the warehouse after Natasha's recon of it.

She waited until she was sure no one else would be going to the warehouse again and that whoever was leaving was gone. She'd avoid or incapacitate any guards she encountered inside.

Getting into the warehouse was laughably easy for Natasha. The door was secured with only one padlock, which she picked quickly. It was mostly empty inside. The high rafters had various pieces of fabric dangling from them, something Natasha failed to understand. Large tarps draped over three piles of crates sitting on plywood palettes on the floor. She continued her exploration of the warehouse, searching for any signs of guards. There were none. Lozano was either exceptionally confident or stupid. Natasha felt inclined to believe the latter.

Lifting up the corner of one of the tarps, Natasha discovered Lozano's current supply of drugs: bags upon bags of powdered cocaine were heaped in the crates. She grinned slightly, moving on to the next two stacks, finding the same result. Lozano certainly wasn't an innovative drug dealer, in fact he was pretty mediocre. Storing all of his supply in poorly concealed crates in a poorly secured building. Powdered cocaine was even highly flammable, making it very easy for Natasha to destroy the entire supply in one go.

* * *

Clint nearly cheered in relief when Coulson called him and told him to return to the safe house. Lozano wasn't going anywhere for the evening, not until he went to the bar anyway. Natasha had already returned with a report on the warehouse.

"I both love and hate that this guy is so predictable," Clint announced as he entered the safe house. He dropped his bow and quiver next to the door and flopped into a chair. "It makes for some very boring surveillance but it also makes it easy to leave off the surveillance for a while."

Natasha emerged from the bathroom, wringing water from her hair with a towel. She wrinkled her nose slightly at Clint's dirty appearance. He hadn't showered in over twenty-four hours, most of which had been spent outside and on rooftops.

Clint stuck his tongue out at her, "Don't give me that look Romanoff, I unlike you have been busy watching our target. I haven't had time to shower."

She shrugged, "It's all yours. And you're right, you've been sitting on your ass all day while I figured out how we're going to destroy the drug supply."

A look from Phil silenced Clint's retort and sent him into the bathroom to shower while the other two waited for him to return.

"So what's the plan?" Clint asked as he walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of pants.

Natasha ignored his appearance and turned to the table where she had drawn a diagram of the warehouse, "Lozano had three piles of crates filled with powdered cocaine in his warehouse. Cocaine is very flammable and potentially explosive when powdered."

Clint grinned, "Please tell me we're going to set the place on fire?"

Natasha nodded, "We'll need an accelerant though, to ensure that the product is destroyed too quickly for anyone to save it. We should try to do it in the next twenty-four hours if we want to ensure the product doesn't get moved."

Phil nodded his agreement, "What about Lozano? When are you going to move on him?"

She looked at Clint for that information.

"Two days, maybe?" he said. "I was thinking we should actually go into the bar tonight, see him up close. It'll depend a bit on how he reacts to the warehouse being destroyed… That might slow things down if he's too distracted to take Romanoff home with him."

"Great, take a couple hours to get ready and figure out how you're going to play it at the bar then get out of here," Phil commanded.

Natasha glanced over at Clint, "Are we going to the bar together or as strangers?"

He shrugged, "Depends, do you think Lozano would be interested if you're with another guy?"

She snorted, "You obviously don't understand men like Lozano. He will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. And I'll make sure that I'm what he wants. You're the man here, you tell me if he'll be jealous if we're there together."

"May as well try it, we can always stage a breakup or I could pretend to cheat on you," he mused before nodding firmly. "Let's do it and change the plan if we need to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so leave me a comment :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Get ready to run," he instructed Natasha.
> 
> She nodded and he touched the flame to the pile.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Fury_Natalia for commenting.

_Chechnya, Russia—1998_

The shed stood in the middle of the clearing, ringed by the trees Natalia and her fellow recruit Alina sat in. They had been sent out on a training mission together: destroy the shed and the insurgents plotting inside of it. The Red Room and the Russian government didn't want the Chechen insurgents to attack any of the surrounding area, which could spark a stronger separatist movement.

Natalia understood the political reasons behind the request and didn't resist taking the job. She didn't know what Alina thought of it, but based on the other girl's track record during their training together so far, she was ruthless and could care less what happened on this mission.

The girls watched two people leave the shed and get in the last vehicle, an old Volkswagen with chipped paint and rust. Alina looked to Natalia, "That's everyone gone."

Natalia nodded and slithered down from her perch onto the forest floor. It was a warm mid-July day and the girls wore thin layers that covered almost all of their skin. Natalia had on a dark green baseball hat to hide her vibrant red hair. Their boots were almost silent against the dirt as they approached the building warily. They had been watching the site all day and had seen a total of eight people filter through. The last two to leave were also the first to arrive. Alina had heard a trio talking about the meeting with all the conspirators later that evening as they left the shed for a while. Now was the best chance the girl's would have to complete their mission.

Slinking into the shed the girls both grinned when they saw the supplies they had to work with. This wasn't just the meeting place for the insurgency group, it was also their storage area. A couple of bricks of C-4 lay on the table in the center of the room, and one corner had nine tanks of gasoline. There were spools of wire packed tightly together on a shelf.

"Blow it?" Alina asked.

Natalia nodded again and began grabbing the wire, "We'll need a trigger."

Alina dug around and found a broken radio tossed in a heap of garbage against the back wall. She began dismantling it and working to create a trigger and a receiver for the pulse. Meanwhile, Natalia stretched the wire over to the gas tanks. She made sure it was touching three of them then pulled the hose attached to one over to the far side of the building. She trickled just a bit of gas along the edge of the wall, hoping the smell wouldn't be too noticeable.

Twenty minutes later Alina had finished what she had been working on. She brought the receiver over to Natalia and handed it to her. The device would produce a small electric bolt that would run down the wire it was attached to and into the gas tank. The resulting spark at the end of the wire would theoretically ignite the gas.

Natalia and Alina had completed their preparations and left the shed in less than thirty minutes. They scrambled back to the trees and into their posts outside, knowing the insurgents could return at any minute.

The radio perched on the branch next to Natalia crackled to life an hour into the girls waiting for the arrival of their targets. A deep voice spoke, "Natalia report."

Natalia picked the radio up and pressed the button on the side, "Sir, we've rigged the warehouse, we're just waiting for the insurgents to arrive."

"How long?"

Natalia closed her eyes and took a deep breath to keep her voice even, "We don't know sir. They're supposed to have a meeting with everyone tonight. We should see movement in the next hour I expect."

"Hurry up," the man commanded before shutting off the radio on his end.

Natalia sighed and set the radio down.

Alina watched the other girl from two trees over. She loathed Natalia, the favorite of all the instructors at the Red Room. Even the guards liked her best, just because she was pretty. Without Natalia, Alina would be at the top of the organization in terms of promise. What a shame it would be if precious Natalia died on this mission… Alina fantasized for a moment about killing her fellow recruit before stopping herself. Natalia was the favorite, killing her outright wouldn't help Alina much. It needed to be an accident, and that was unlikely to happen on this mission.

Three hours after Natalia and Alina had left the shed the meeting was well underway. The girls had waited thirty minutes after the start to ensure that no late stragglers ruined their plan. They both climbed down from the trees again, remaining against the edge of the clearing, ready to disappear behind the tree line if necessary.

Natalia darted towards the shed and quietly slid the outer lock into place, ensuring that no one could escape the building. She returned to her previous position and looked at Alina, "Ready?"

The other girl scoffed and withdrew the trigger from her bag.

Natalia raised her hand, three fingers raised. She lowered them steadily, and when they were all down Alina pressed a couple of buttons on the trigger.

Nothing happened and Natalia wondered if their plan had failed.

Then a loud boom shattered the almost silent night. Alina and Natalia both winced as a wall of heat hit them. The gasoline had ignited. Screams pierced the night and the door shook as the people inside tried to escape from the inferno.

Forty three seconds later a stronger explosion ripped through the warehouse. The screaming and coughing lasted only a few seconds longer before going silent.

Natalia sniffed the air, rank with an odor she couldn't quite identify but that was familiar.

Alina grinned cruelly, "The smell of burning flesh is delicious, don't you think?"

Natalia fought the rising bile in her throat. She would not vomit, she would not show that weakness, especially not in front of Alina. Now she remembered when she'd smelled the scent last: the day her parents died in the hospital fire.

She'd smelled the burning corpses in the building as Ivan carried her away.

* * *

_León, Mexico—2007_

Clint and Natasha entered the bar together, her dangling off his arm and giggling. They were a young couple on vacation together for the first time, at least Cary and Jenna were. They grabbed a couple of seats at the bar and Clint flashed a crooked grin at the bartender.

"Dos cervezas por favor," he said in heavily accented Spanish. He grinned proudly at Natasha who gave an obliging giggle. They looked the part of two inane Americans enjoying some time in Mexico. Easy targets for thieves and men looking for a good time with a naïve woman.

Two beers later for each of them, Lozano walked in. He gave Natasha an appreciative glance before taking his usual table along with his security team.

Some American country song came on over the old radio playing, Natasha grabbed Clint's hand and dragged him onto the area of the bar for dancing (no one had used it yet). "I love this song," she slurred as she began to move against him.

Clint played along, dancing with her and fighting to keep his body under control. He didn't have feelings for Natasha beyond friends, but that didn't mean he was immune to her beauty. The smirk she shot him revealed that she knew exactly what he was feeling. Phil was right, Clint decided. She was evil.

After a few songs Clint pulled her back to the bar, ordering some tequila for them. Lozano had started watching. Natasha moved closer to Clint, standing between his legs at the bar. "He's watching," she whispered before downing a shot.

Clint nodded, "How do you want to play it?"

"Give it a few minutes then go to the bathroom, we'll see if he makes his move then," she said with a flirty laugh and a kiss to the corner of Clint's mouth.

He nearly shivered at the touch of her lips against his cheek. She was trying to kill him and he knew it. They continued drinking and laughing, talking about the sites they'd seen earlier that day.

"I gotta hit the head," Clint announced to her a few minutes later, his words starting to slur as part of the act. The alcohol was starting to work its way through his system, though he wasn't drunk yet. But if he didn't slow down soon, he would be.

Natasha sat down on the stool and fiddled with the shot glass in front of her. She noticed Lozano watching and gave him a flirty smile. She dipped one of the limes they'd been given into the salt and sucked on it pensively. Lozano rose and approached her.

"Hola señorita," he purred, invading her personal space.

"Hola," she laughed, using a clear American accent.

"American, eh?"

"Sí!"

Lozano chuckled, "My name is Andre. What about you, señorita?"

Natasha let out another giggle, "I'm Jenna."

"Is this your first time in Mexico, Jenna?"

She nodded, "Uh-huh, my boyfriend and I are here on vacation!"

Andre frowned for a moment before recovering and smiling at her again, "How do you like it?"

"It's amazing, maybe a little hot though..." she replied, thinking for a moment before smiling brightly at him.

Lozano frowned and looked at something behind Natasha, "It looks like your friend isn't as interested in you as you are in him."

Natasha turned to see what he was talking about. Clint had stopped to flirt with a table of young women on his way back from the restroom when he saw Lozano talking with Natasha. He knew she wouldn't be going back with the man tonight, they weren't ready to eliminate him yet but he figured he could get the man to doubt their relationship a bit.

Natasha frowned. "Cary's just being friendly," she said stubbornly. "He won't do anything bad."

Lozano patted her knee, "I hope you're right my dear."

Clint chose that moment to return to where Natasha was sitting at the bar, "Hey Jen, babe." He planted a wet kiss on her cheek, which Natasha forced herself to smile at. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Andre," Natasha replied. "Andre, this is my boyfriend Cary."

Andre nodded at the man, his smile had hardened slightly, "A pleasure, señor. If you'll excuse me I must return to my group, though I hope I'll see you here tomorrow night."

They nodded enthusiastically, as though that was the best idea they'd heard all day.

Lozano turned and walked away after throwing one more glance at Natasha.

"How'd it go?" Clint asked in a hushed voice.

She shrugged and nodded when the bartender offered them more tequila, "Well enough, he's interested, but he didn't say anything overtly. He thinks I'm at risk of having you cheat on me."

Clint nodded, "Good. Tomorrow night we can use that to our advantage."

They finished their shots then Natasha moved to stand between Clint's legs once more. She let her hands drift down the front of his torso and pulled slightly at his shirt. Then she leaned up and whispered in his ear, "Let's get out of here."

Clint chuckled and took her hand. He threw some money down on the bar and gave the bartender a cocky wink before leading the way out of the building. They'd gotten Lozano's attention, the night had been a success.

* * *

After changing into more appropriate attire for surveillance, Clint and Natasha went out to keep an eye on Lozano's activities. Meanwhile, Phil worked to acquire the accelerant Natasha had requested for destroying the warehouse.

For the first time since arriving in León, Phil left the safe house for an extended period of time. He would be monitoring Lozano while Natasha and Clint destroyed the supply of cocaine in the warehouse. Unlike his agents, he didn't have an affinity for rooftops, so he chose to do his surveillance on the ground. He sat outside of a small café a block away from Lozano's after dropping a few bugs around the house's perimeter. Clint had placed some in and around the house the night before, noticing the distinct lack of electronic security.

From the little bit of chatter he'd heard, the security team was bored. They had nothing to do but stay at the house with Lozano while he amused himself. Lozano did tell one of the men that he intended to bring a young American woman home that night and he expected the man to help if he required the woman's boyfriend out of the picture.

Phil smirked to himself, sounds like his agents had managed to catch Lozano's attention last night.

Around one thirty in the afternoon, Phil managed to overhear parts of the phone call Lozano received. From what he could gather, someone called from the fire department to inform him that his warehouse had burned to the ground.

Lozano wasn't happy if his cursing was anything to go by. The security team kept their distance while he yelled for them to get him to the warehouse as quickly as possible.

"Hawkeye, Black Widow," Phil said into the mostly silent comms unit he wore. "Lozano's on his way to inspect the warehouse. Get out of there and rendezvous at the safe house."

"Copy," Clint's voice replied, satisfaction dripping from that one word.

"I take it the warehouse burned as well as you'd hoped?" Phil asked.

Clint chuckled, "Even better. The thing was gone by the time the fire department arrived."

Phil smirked and picked up his bag. He headed back to the safe house with the knowledge that his agents had dealt a hard blow to the cartel and to Lozano personally. Tonight, the mission would be over.

* * *

Clint and Natasha rose soon after dawn. They'd taken turns watching Lozano until the early hours of the morning before going to bed. He wouldn't be moving until later in the day. They planned how they would destroy the warehouse over the breakfast Phil had prepared. The newly acquired accelerant sat in the corner of the safe house living room.

"If we get the walls and the crates coated with the accelerant," Natasha said. "We'll be able to light it and watch as it comes crashing to the ground."

Clint nodded, "Do we need to get the ceiling?"

She shrugged, "If we can it'll help ensure there isn't anything for the fire department to try to save when they arrive. But if we don't have enough accelerant or can't get up there it won't be a problem."

"How are you going to carry all of the accelerant over to the warehouse?" Phil asked curiously. There was twenty gallons of the stuff contained in two ten gallon tanks. They couldn't exactly carry those through the city without looking suspicious.

Natasha frowned, she hadn't figured that part out yet.

"We can take the SUV, or you can drive us," Clint said. "I can go ahead and get the warehouse unlocked, make it appear that you two are bringing a scheduled delivery."

Phil nodded, "I'll drive and then bring the car back here before going to sit on Lozano. I think Romanoff should accompany you in opening the warehouse. The two of you should be able to handle any guards without problem."

The agents nodded and rose from the table to begin packing their gear. They only had one shot at destroying the cocaine supply or Lozano would realize he was being targeted and move it.

Natasha and Clint left the safe house an hour before Phil in order to ensure that everything be ready by the time he arrived. They sat on the same roof they had occupied the day before in order to see if the safe house was empty or not. There was still no movement after ten minutes of watching, so they decided their plan would go ahead.

Natasha approached the warehouse casually, she would watch the perimeter while Clint took care of the lock. He had needed to ditch his bow and quiver in the shadows of a neighboring warehouse or risk being caught.

Clint made quick work of the lock and retrieved his weapons quietly. He beckoned Natasha to follow him into the warehouse. The two assassins darted around the darkened space, checking for any guards. They found none. Lozano was a fool if he thought he could leave a supply of cocaine unguarded and not have anyone tamper with it. How exactly he posed a threat to SHIELD, Clint didn't know. But he would do as ordered because Lozano was clearly not a good guy.

Their ear pieces crackled to life with Phil's voice, "I'm on my way. Everything going as planned?"

Clint nodded as he replied, "Warehouse is clear. We'll be ready when you arrive to move the tanks."

"Copy, see you in a bit."

Natasha looked at Clint, "Think we can get up into the rafters if we have enough accelerant?"

Clint looked up for a long moment, "The trick will be bringing the accelerant up with us. We may just want to coat the fabric hanging from it and call that good."

Natasha nodded. He was the sniper and much more accustomed to having to get into hard to reach places than she was.

They moved to wait outside of the warehouse for Phil to show up, knowing that they would draw less attention to themselves the quicker they were able to finish up with the job.

Phil pulled up in front of them twenty-two minutes later, he stepped out of the SUV casually and nodded at the agents. He then opened the trunk of the car to allow them to haul the containers of accelerant out. They were too heavy for one person to carry so Clint and Natasha each grabbed and end of the first one and toted it into the warehouse. Clint returned to grab the second one with Phil. Meanwhile, Natasha began attaching the hose they would use to spread the accelerant.

Phil returned once more to the vehicle in order to grab the last bag of gear they had, inside were gloves and gas masks to protect the agents while they worked.

"Do you need anything else from me?" Phil asked.

Natasha shook her head, "We're good."

"Alright, I'm going to go sit on Lozano. I'll let you know if he leaves the house," Phil replied.

Clint clapped the man on the back, "Have fun watching the most boring target I've ever watched.

Phil rolled his eyes and headed back to the car. He jumped in and drove back to the safe house before going to the cafe across from Lozano's.

Natasha handed Clint a gas mask and pair of gloves, having already donned hers. The gas mask sat loosely around her neck, ready to be pulled up when needed. She and Clint grabbed the hose attached to the first tank and began coating the crates of cocaine thickly. They moved around the warehouse slowly, coating as much as they could, even getting some on the ends of the fabric hanging off the ceiling before running out.

"Where should we put the tanks?" Natasha asked, voice muffled by the mask.

Clint shrugged, "We can just leave them. We aren't trying to keep it a secret that someone set the place on fire, are we?"

"Works for me," Natasha replied.

Clint withdrew a lighter from one of his pockets and bent down to the pile of rags they'd made from random scraps they'd found. It had been doused in accelerant and had a line of the liquid connecting it to each of the three stacks.

"Get ready to run," he instructed Natasha.

She nodded and he touched the flame to the pile. The rags caught immediately and a few moments later the yellow and blue fire rushed along the lines to reach the crates. The assassins waited only long enough to make sure the crates caught before fleeing the building.

"Should we close the door?" Clint asked once they were outside, stripping off his mask.

"No," Natasha replied, mimicking his movements. "It'll potentially run out of oxygen. The open door will help it burn faster."

They retreated a few buildings away and crawled onto the rooftops, lugging the bag of supplies they had. Smoke had started to billow from Lozano's warehouse when they turned to watch. No one had raised the alarm yet.

Three minutes later they could see the flames racing up the walls. Within five minutes the flames were licking out of the open warehouse door and someone had noticed. A group ran from another building, yelling to each other about the fire. One was on the phone to the fire department while a couple others began looking for a way to put the fire out. Around minute eight a small explosion occurred, Natasha assumed it was from the cocaine. By ten minutes in the roof had caught in the blaze and the men had backed away, darting forward occasionally to put out any sparks that landed in the tufts of grass around the warehouse.

It took until twenty minutes into the fire for the fire department to appear. They surveyed the scene and attached their hose. A few moments after they finished the roof caved in, taking a wall with it. The assassins saw the fire chief wave for his men to use the hose. The stream of water did little to stop the roaring flames. They could feel the heat all the way to the building they were perched on.

One of the men who had reported the blaze pulled out his phone and made another call.

"He's calling someone to let Lozano know," Clint reported, reading the man's lips through his binoculars.

Natasha nodded.

Five minutes later their ear pieces crackled to life with Phil's voice, "Hawkeye, Black Widow, Lozano's on his way to inspect the warehouse. Get out of there and rendezvous at the safe house."

"Copy," Clint replied.

"I take it the warehouse burned as well as you'd hoped?" Phil asked.

Clint chuckled, "Even better. The thing was gone by the time the fire department arrived."

He and Natasha both rose and climbed down from the warehouse they perched on unnoticed. The men present were too enthralled by the raging inferno to pay attention to their surroundings.

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for the elimination of Lozano. Clint headed to stake out a spot to get a shot at Lozano, leaving his bow and quiver stashed there. He would go to the bar with Natasha then follow her back to Lozano's. Once she had the man alone, she'd give the signal and he'd take the shot.

Natasha checked nearly a dozen times to make sure the knife she'd hidden against her thigh didn't show through the thin skirt she wore. Tonight, she needed to get Lozano's attention and hold it until he brought her home. She spent a while on her make up, making sure it wasn't too heavy but still accented her features.

Close to seven, the two assassins returned to the bar with Phil wishing them luck through the comms. Lozano was already there when the two arrived.

Clint pulled her over to the bar, ordering a couple of beers again. They weren't as affectionate this time, playing it that "Cary" was getting tired of "Jenna." After a while, Clint rose and headed to the bathroom.

Natasha made herself look upset after he left, knowing Lozano was watching. The man himself appeared beside her less than a minute later.

"Señorita Jenna, you've returned," he said happily. His voice lowered to a more serious note, "But señorita, you appear to be upset."

Natasha shrugged and faked a smile, "I just couldn't stay away. Cary wasn't sure we should come back but I knew it would be fun."

Just then Clint made his reappearance. He seated himself at the table of young women he'd flirted with the night before, pretending to ignore the forlorn glance Natasha sent his way.

"Señorita," Lozano purred. "Your friend does not deserve you."

She shrugged, "He's just being friendly."

Lozano turned to the bartender, "Dos disparos de tequila."  _(Two shots of tequila.)_

He raised the glass to Natasha who mimicked his actions with the one he had pushed towards her, they downed the drinks.

"Señor," she smiled. "You're too kind to me."

Lozano shook his head, "No, and call me Andre. I insist."

"Then you should call me Jenna," she replied.

He laughed, "Well Jenna, will you join me at my table I'd love to learn more about you?"

Natasha sent a glance at Clint, then jumped off the barstool and moved to Lozano's table with him.

The man poured her a drink from the bottle already on the table, some mediocre rum. "Tell me Jenna, what do you do for a living?"

She shrugged, "Well right now I'm just waitressing in a diner. I'm taking time off from school right now to try being an actress."

Lozano smiled again, "An actress? You must be brilliant!"

Natasha shrugged, "Thanks but no one else seems to think so… But enough about me, what do you do?"

"I'm a businessman," he said.

"Are you important? Like a CEO or something?"

"Or something, I run my business."

Natasha giggled, "That's great!"

"Yes, although it does make things tough when business doesn't always go as planned," he mused.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shrugged, "I suffered a big business setback today. Nothing that I can't fix with some drinks and good company."

Clint let out a roar of laughter from the other side of the room, causing Natasha and Lozano to look over. One of the girls was in his lap while another refilled the glass in his hand.

Natasha allowed a frown to grace her face.

Lozano reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Perhaps we should get out of here," he offered.

"I don't want to leave Cary here," she said.

Another roar of laughter caused them to look over at Clint's table again.

"Señorita, I'm sorry to say it but, I don't think your friend much cares what you do," he said quietly.

Natasha gulped and nodded, watching as one of the women with Clint gave him a filthy kiss.

"Okay," she said.

Lozano grinned and rose to his feet, giving her a hand up.

"I will have my associate inform your friend that you are leaving and will see him tomorrow, is that acceptable?"

Natasha nodded as Lozano gestured one of his guards over and whispered to him in rapid Spanish. The man moved over to Clint's table as Natasha and Lozano walked out of the bar. Natasha sent one glance over her shoulder then returned her attention to Lozano.

The man led her to a white SUV and pulled her into the back seat. Two of his security team climbed into the front.

"Why do you have so many security people with you?" Natasha asked with a giggle.

Lozano smirked, "Mexico is not as safe as we like it to appear. I must take precautions."

She nodded as though the vague answer explained everything. With a small smile she moved across the back seat to climb into Lozano's lap. "I like you," she whispered.

Lozano grinned, "I like you too Jenna. Very much so."

He captured her lips in a kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Natasha returned the kiss despite her desire to turn away. He tasted too strongly of alcohol and she nearly gagged, but if there was one thing she'd learned from the Red Room it was how to ignore her own desire and please someone else.

* * *

Clint waited for a few minutes after Natasha left with Lozano before extracting himself from the young women, claiming he needed to step outside and make a call to the hotel for them. They were more than happy to let him go when he made it clear he was getting them something nice at the hotel. Too bad he wasn't going to return.

Clint dashed through the city to beat Lozano home. They may have a head start but he could take a more direct path. He had just reached his perch when the SUV pulled up in front of the house.

"Coulson," he said. "I'm in position. Target is entering the house along with the Widow."

"Take the shot when she gives the signal," Coulson said. "Widow, get out of there as quickly as you can."

She didn't respond, engaged in entertaining Lozano. Clint assumed she knew what was going on.

He nearly gagged when he watched Lozano press her against a wall and force his tongue into her mouth again. He didn't envy Natasha at all, having that asshat force himself on her.

Lozano led the woman up the stairs and into his room, where the curtains had been closed.

"Widow," Clint said. "I need you to get those curtains open."

He couldn't see what happened, he only heard Natasha's voice exclaim, "I bet you have a beautiful view of the city!"

A moment later she was pulling the coverings out of the way and smiling back at Lozano who hadn't taken his eyes off of her since getting her into the room. Lozano reached up and unbuttoned a few of the buttons on his shirt. He stalked towards Natasha predatorily and pulled her to him again. This time he grabbed her ass as he kissed her before tugging at the hem of her tank top. Natasha stepped back and helped him pull the shirt off.

Clint frowned, he didn't like where this was going. "Widow, give the signal and get out of the way," he commanded.

She ignored him, allowing Lozano to pull her to the bed.

"Coulson, she's in the way. I can't get a kill shot on Lozano and she's not giving the signal," Clint reported, worry tingeing his voice.

"Do you know why she hasn't given the signal?"

Clint shook his head, "No. All I know is that things are getting a little bit too hot and heavy down there. Should I take a shot? I can hit him, but it won't necessarily be a kill."

There was a pause, "Hawk, if she's betraying us you know what you need to do."

"I don't think she is though."

"Do what you see fit."

Clint nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring. He sighted for a moment before releasing the projectile with a hiss.

* * *

Natasha had ignored the chatter between Clint and Phil once she'd arrived at Lozano's house. She knew she needed to get him into the bedroom and then give Clint the signal. Lozano clearly wanted to get to the bedroom too, pushing her against the wall before leading the way upstairs.

The curtains were closed. It was the first things she noticed about the room, she didn't need Barton telling her to open them, she already intended to. But she also didn't need him to do her job. She could finish Lozano herself.

It was just like any other assignment where she'd needed to seduce the target. The Red Room had made it clear to her that since her targets were about to die, the least she could do was give them some pleasure. Ignoring Clint's attempts to get her to give the signal she let Lozano pull her into the bed. Moving to straddle him with a mischievous smile.

Lozano didn't seem too upset by the change in position. Natasha knew this would give her the best leverage to eliminate him. She could hear Clint and Phil talking through the comm link they'd established, but she didn't pay any attention to what they were saying. The line went silent and a few seconds later she heard glass shatter and felt a breath of air against her neck. An arrow sprouted from Lozano's right shoulder and he let out a shout of pain, throwing her off of him as he wrenched himself off the bed.

"¡Ayúdeme! ¡Ayúdeme!" he yelled, moving towards his door.  _(Help me! Help me!)_

Natasha cursed under her breath and drew her knife. She could hear the security team thumping up the stairs.

Lozano had barely pulled the door open when another arrow sprouted in him, this time through the left side of his back. Judging by the sudden collapse, it had hit his heart.

Natasha darted towards the door, wondering how to play this. The guards had seen her. She chose to see if she could talk her way out of it. "Oh god help him!" she cried to the first guard who appeared.

The man dropped to the ground next to Lozano and began trying to give him CPR, made difficult by the arrowhead jutting out from his heart. Natasha stepped forward and drew her knife across the man's neck.

Two more men appeared in the doorway. Another arrow took care of one while she jumped and wrapped her legs around the other, snapping his neck as she pulled him to the ground.

"Hawkeye, how many more of them are there," she snarled.

"I see four. I've picked off three outside. That leaves two unaccounted for," he reported.

She nodded and grabbed one of the dead men's Glocks. She stood and left the room, moving through the house. The first guard went down with a bullet through his brain before he'd even registered the woman holding the weapon. The other three drew their weapons and pointed them at her. Clint downed another before calling to Natasha, "You're on your own for a moment, I've got movement outside."

She ducked behind a wall as the men fired at her, waiting until they'd emptied their cartridges before ducking out and getting off two rounds. One of the men went down while the other swung around to fire at her. Natasha checked the gun she'd grabbed, only four rounds left. What kind of idiot didn't keep their weapon fully loaded?

"I'm coming out," she called.

"Hold the gun where I can see it," the man commanded.

Natasha did as he requested holding the gun out in her right hand as she stepped out from behind the wall with her hands in the air, knife concealed in her left hand. The man took a step forward to disarm her, dropping his own weapon slightly. Natasha took advantage of the movement and lunged at him, knocking the gun away and getting her knife into his side.

He kicked her off of him and ripped the knife out, snarling at her. Natasha smirked and leveled the gun she still held at his head. He froze and opened his mouth to speak. The bullet ripped through his skull and dropped him to the ground before he could draw breath to form the words.

"Anyone left?" she asked Clint.

"No, we're clear."

"Should I grab your arrows?" she offered, knowing they couldn't be as easily replaced as bullets.

"Please."

His shortness with her was confusing, Natasha didn't think she'd done anything to warrant the curt treatment.

"Coulson, we're done," Clint said.

"Return to the safe house," Phil replied. "Is Romanoff grabbing your arrows?"

"She is. We'll meet you back there."

Natasha had returned to the lower level after picking up Clint's arrows.

"Romanoff, do you need me to stay or can I head back?" Clint asked.

"Go, I'm right behind you," she replied, moving outside to grab the one's he'd used on the exterior guards.

Clint slung his bow over his back and grabbed the bag he had on the roof with him. He then turned and sprinted across the rooftops, taking a slightly longer route back to the house in the hopes of giving himself enough time to cool off. He was furious to say the least.

Natasha arrived back at the safe house with a handful of Clint's arrows about fifteen minutes after leaving Lozano's. She'd jogged most of the way before slowing to a walk a block away from the house. She knew Clint was mad a her, she just didn't know why or how he would treat her when she arrived.

She pushed the door open and nodded at Coulson who was sitting at the table, picking up the map they'd had and the information in the files they'd brought. He'd written down some notes it looked like. Natasha held up the arrows she had in question.

"Just set them next to the sink," Phil said. "He'll want to clean them."

She nodded and did as he'd said, washing the blood off of her own hands.

The door to the safe house burst open and in stomped an angry Clint. He dropped his bag to the ground and rounded on Natasha, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

Natasha opened her mouth to respond.

"Shut up!" he commanded. "You don't get to talk right now. Why the hell didn't you give me the signal? Why didn't you get out of the way? I thought maybe, there was something wrong with the comms, but clearly there wasn't since you replied to everything after things went to hell. So why would you compromise a simple mission?"

Natasha glared at him for a moment before she was certain he was done yelling, "You're the one that compromised it. If you'd waited until I gave the signal and got out of the way he wouldn't have raised the alarm and we wouldn't have had to kill the guards."

"And when were you going to give the signal?" he asked, voice scathing. "After you'd fucked him?"

Natasha tried to respond again but he stalked over to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. She turned to Phil, furious at her partner's behavior.

Phil just shrugged in the direction of the bathroom.

"You agree with him," she said quietly, the rage leaving her as quickly as it had appeared.

Phil shrugged again, "You should have given the signal as soon as you got him into the room with the curtains open. Why didn't you? You knew Clint was prepared to take the shot."

She frowned, "I—I needed Lozano in a position where he would be easily over powered."

Phil shook his head, "You still don't trust Clint enough to believe that he'll take care of the target if you leave yourself vulnerable. He will."

She didn't say anything, thinking about his words.

"And you're right, his actions could have compromised the mission just as easily as yours. But he shouldn't have to watch you sleep with a target before killing," Phil finished speaking and returned to packing up their gear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please take the time to leave a comment.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Yellowstone?" Natasha asked.
> 
> "It's a national park. I don't know if you have those in Russia," Clint informed her.
> 
> She rolled her eyes, "I'm aware. I just don't know what could possibly happening in Yellowstone that requires our...skills."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Karolina94 and ViviChick for the wonderful comments!

 

_Waverly, Iowa—1991_

Clint Barton curled into a ball as he tried to make himself even smaller within the closet. He didn't want his dad to find him, earlier he'd accidentally broken one of their glasses. He just wanted his parents to go out for the night. Tonight was their anniversary and his mom wanted to go out and sometimes his dad actually did what his mom wanted. Anyway, the neighbors would talk if they didn't go out for their anniversary, at least that's what Clint's mom said.

"CLINT!" his dad roared.

Clint whimpered a bit and tried to slide farther into the closet.

Heavy footsteps clumped up the steps and towards the closet where Clint hid. The doors flew open and revealed a hulking figure framed by the light.

"Get out of there you pussy!" the man continued to yell.

Clint scrambled to his feet as he obeyed the order and left the closet.

Frank Barton grabbed his youngest son by the arm and dragged him down the stairs and back to the living room. Clint held back his tears as they rounded the corner and he saw his mom and brother on the couch.

Frank raised his hand and backhanded Clint across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, "You apologize to your mother for breaking her glass earlier! You're a dumbass and I should kick you out before you make our lives any worse!"

Clint sniffled and turned to his mom, "I-I-I'm sorry."

Frank dragged the six year old to his feet and threw him onto the couch next to Barney, his older brother. He pointed at his wife, "We're leaving."

Frank turned to his sons with a menacing glare, "Barney, keep your brother under control and don't let him touch anything. We'll be home in a couple of hours. So help me if anything is wrong with the house when we get back…"

Clint and Barney nodded together and didn't speak. They knew better than to speak unless told to do so when their father was around.

The two adults left the room, leaving the boys sitting on the couch, Clint still sniffling, his face growing slightly red from the stinging blow his father had delivered.

Barney sat in silence with his brother for a few minutes after their parents left before turning to look at Clint. "You okay Clint?"

Clint nodded and sniffed hard, "Yeah."

"Come on," Barney said as he pulled his brother to his feet. "Let's see if he left us any food."

Clint followed behind the ten-year old without a word. He was hungry but didn't think their mom had thought to leave them anything, or that their dad had actually made sure the kitchen had any food in it.

They got lucky and managed to find a box of macaroni and cheese that Barney was going to make.

The boys always had some fun when their parents left, since they had the run of the house, they were able to actually relax. The only thing they had to worry about was making sure everything was the same and hadn't changed by the time their parents got home.

They were sitting on the floor playing a game of War with the deck of cards they'd found (it was missing three cards) when a sharp knock on the door drew their attention.

Barney motioned for Clint to stay behind him as they went to answer the door. A young man in a uniform was standing outside expectantly. Barney opened the door with trepidation and looked up at the young man.

The man cleared his throat, "Are you Bernard and Clinton?"

Clint nodded and cowered farther behind his brother.

"Yeah," Barney said. "What's going on?"

The young man swallowed hard, "I have some bad news. You're parents were driving back from the restaurant when they went off the road and into a ditch."

"Are they okay?" Barney asked, wrapping an arm around Clint.

The police officer shook his head, "I'm sorry boys, but your parents are dead."

Clint started crying in earnest as Barney's face morphed into one of shock and he asked, "What's going to happen to us?"

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2007_

Hill met the trio when they arrived back at the base, leading them to Fury's office for a debriefing. Fury even complimented them on the success of the mission, commenting that no new partnership in the history of SHIELD has ever completed their first mission with such speed and success.

The best part of the debrief with Fury happened when he informed the two assassins that Clint had been taken off of probation, however he could very easily be put right back on and that Natasha would now be allowed to leave the base. They returned to their shared quarters in silence, thrilled that they'd done well enough to be allowed off base, yet both still uneasy with the other.

Natasha didn't know what to tell Clint. She still hadn't figured out her own response to the argument they'd had.

Clint didn't know what to say to his partner. He could feel the tension and knew he'd overreacted a bit, but when he looked at Natasha he didn't see a trained killer. He saw a broken girl, and watching her seduce a mark to the point where she was about to fuck him bothered him more than he'd admit.

Clint immediately entered his room and shut the door once inside the apartment. Natasha followed suit, although a little less hastily. After training the next morning, Clint left for the city to stay at his apartment there.

Natasha spent one day on base before deciding to go into the city. She wasn't sure what the process was since she didn't exactly have a car, or technically a driver's license, so she went to ask Coulson. He may not like her much, but he was the kind of guy who would still help her out.

Phil looked up when someone knocked on his open office door, he didn't get many visitors, especially not ones who knocked since Clint tended to barge in whenever, or drop out of the ceiling vent. The last person he expected to see was Natasha Romanoff standing in the doorway.

"What can I help you with Agent Romanoff?" he asked, motioning for her to step into the room.

Natasha stepped up to Coulson's desk, "I wanted to get off base and go into the city, but I don't have a mode of transportation."

Phil frowned, "Of course. Do you know what you intend to do in the city?"

She shrugged, "Look around, I've never been to New York before. Maybe I'll start looking for somewhere to live. I don't exactly enjoy spending all of my time on base."

"Well I was just about to call for you," he said. "Since you're no longer in training, you've been granted citizenship."

"Citizenship where?" she interrupted.

Phil pulled a file out of the stack on his desk and slid it across the table to her, "The United States. In this file is a social security card, passport, and driver's license for New York. For now, you should consider your address the SHIELD base."

Natasha flipped open the file to reveal the documents he'd said, each in her actual name, complete with pictures.

Phil watched as she perused the file he'd given her, "There's also information on the bank account we've set up for you. You should have a debit card and the account number."

It was all there, just as Phil had said. Natasha allowed her features to soften slightly, hoping the man would recognize her gratitude for what it was.

Phil struggled to keep his shock from showing, he could have sworn the Black Widow had just dropped her guard a bit. He continued speaking, "As for transportation, SHIELD has a motor pool that you can borrow a car from. Some agents who live in the city have their own vehicles for getting to and from the base, you might want to look into it if you intend to commute."

Natasha nodded, "Thank you. Is there a way I can find out how much money is in the account? If I'm going apartment and car shopping it would be good to know."

"It's all in the file."

Natasha rose to leave, "I'll be headed out then."

"Enjoy the city agent, I'll see you at training tomorrow."

She gave him a curt nod before leaving.

* * *

Clint had left SHIELD headquarters as quickly as he could after finishing the mission in Mexico. He still hadn't forgiven Natasha for her actions and he knew that the people on the base still hated him. Even Phil didn't completely trust his judgment. Getting away from the base seemed to be the best option for him.

The SHIELD motor pool contained two sections: one for company cars and the other for agents to store their vehicles. Clint nodded to the man on duty as he walked past the desk and towards his parking spot. While SHIELD didn't assign official parking spaces, Clint's was pretty much assumed. He spent most of his time away on assignment, and usually parked his motorcycle at the base while away on business.

Sliding onto the sleek black machine helped calm him more than he expected it to. He hadn't been on the bike in over four months, not since before he'd been sent after the Black Widow. He slammed the visor down on his helmet and headed out of the base.

Tension melted away from his shoulders as the wind whipped past him. He sped off SHIELD property and towards the city, enjoying the open roads and clean air while he could. All too soon he'd reach New York City and be stuck in heavy traffic with thick, dirty air. Some days he wished that he'd bought a place in the wide open areas around the base, but he needed to get farther away from the base than that would allow.

Working as an assassin was stressful. To destress Clint needed to get away from it all, that's why he liked high places so much. Being up high gave him the perspective to cope with his actions and the actions of his fellows at SHIELD.

After an hour's drive, much of it spent racing down the highway as fast as he dared on the motorcycle, he reached his apartment building. It wasn't the Upper East Side, but it wasn't the Bronx either. The area was sketchy enough that no one questioned the strange schedule he had or the quirks that came with him inhabiting a place. However, it wasn't an area where you had to constantly fear for your safety.

Clint parked his bike in the garage then headed up the stairs to his floor. Most people living on the eighth floor would take the elevator. Clint preferred to walk. The door to his apartment required two keys and a fingerprint scan on the handle before it would open, very few (well really just Phil) had access to his apartment without his presence.

"Home sweet home," Clint muttered as he walked into the apartment, carelessly tossing his backpack onto the couch. He wandered over to the fridge and opened it up. Empty, except for a long expired gallon of milk and a strange substance growing in the back of it.

He groaned and ran a hand over his face, he'd have to go to the store and clean out his fridge if he intended on spending a prolonged period of time at the apartment. Considering his other option was to return to SHIELD and the quarters he shared with Natasha, he decided he could make the effort to go to the store. Lesser of two evils, right?

But that could wait until later, for now he just wanted to lay down in his own bed and sleep for a while. Clint entered the bedroom, floor littered with clothing, kicked off his boots, and flopped onto the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Within a week of getting access to the motor pool, Natasha had found an apartment for herself. She'd looked into Clint's file in order to figure out where he lived, assuming he'd wouldn't have picked a terrible place to live. Based on what she saw, Clint's apartment was in an average part of New York City, a little run down, but overall a good place to live. She'd then chosen an building on the side of the neighborhood farthest from Clint, knowing he probably wouldn't be happy when he found out where she lived.

The next few days were spent acquiring basic furniture for the place. She thought about asking Phil or Clint for help moving things up and down, but decided to just pay some movers to do the ones she couldn't do on her own. She only saw the two men when they all met for training. She knew they would hang out together, without her, outside of training, but she never wanted to join them.

It was two weeks after finishing with Lozano when Natasha officially moved into her new apartment. She'd been commuting back and forth between the base and her home everyday since she'd acquired it. The apartment was small: one bedroom, one bath, a living room, and kitchen with a bar. She'd bought a couch, bed, and a couple chairs for at the bar, but otherwise left the place fairly sparse. Natasha knew that she wouldn't be spending much time in her home, so she didn't worry too much about making sure it was exceptionally homey. What she had was enough for her.

She slept better that night than she had since joining SHIELD, still it wasn't a full night of rest. Nightmares plagued her, much as they did every other assassin she'd known, and few had done as many terrible things as she had.

Driving back to SHIELD she decided her next investment would be in a car of her own. Sure, her SHIELD salary thus far had only barely covered the apartment and costs associated with it, but she hated driving the company cars. If all else failed she could delve into one of her off-shore bank accounts holding the money she'd made working for the Red Room and by taking private contracts.

Clint was already in the sparring gym they used when Natasha arrived. She began stretching in silence on the other side of the room. He raised in an eyebrow at her but she ignored the question. For the last two weeks she'd been the first to the gym, with Clint staying off base and Coulson always striding in right on time, Natasha had enjoyed the few minutes of peace every morning.

When Phil still hadn't arrived, five minutes into their scheduled start time, Natasha gave Clint a questioning look. He shrugged and went back to the warm up routine he'd been doing, alternating pushups and sprints. Natasha continued her own stretching and strength exercises. At fifteen minutes into the session they'd both stopped stretching and were simply waiting for their handler to arrive.

Phil walked into the room two minutes later, frowning slightly at the agents standing on opposite sides of the room. He knew that they'd had some issues in Mexico, but he'd hoped they'd be able to work them out on their own. Apparently not.

"We've caught a mission, we're headed to briefing room seven," Phil said before turning and exiting the room again.

Natasha and Clint scrambled to gather their gear and followed him through the halls. It wasn't even seven in the morning yet, the SHIELD base was almost dead silent, and the two agents they passed quickly moved out of the way of the organization's most notorious agents and their handler.

The briefing room was still dark when they arrived, usually someone went through and turned on lights once the rooms went into use.

"Coulson," Clint yawned as he sat down. "It's too early for a mission debrief. Can we just wait and do it later?"

Phil shook his head, "This is time sensitive."

Clint and Natasha opened the folders in front of them, glancing up in surprise when they noted the location.

"Yellowstone?" Natasha asked.

"It's a national park. I don't know if you have those in Russia," Clint informed her.

She rolled her eyes, "I'm aware. I just don't know what could possibly happening in Yellowstone that requires our...skills."

Clint opened his mouth to respond before stopping, "You make a good point. So Phil, what is in Yellowstone?"

Phil sighed and opened his own file, "SHIELD has heard rumors of a terrorist threat against the United States, and the target is Yellowstone National Park."

"Okay, great, why Yellowstone? Of all the places in the US? It's in some of the least populated states, all that's there is trees and some wolves," Clint said, waving his hand in dismissal of the case.

"Yellowstone is also a super-volcano," Phil said.

"Are you telling us that someone intends to blow up the Yellowstone super-volcano?" Natasha asked incredulously. There was no way that was the premise for their mission.

Phil nodded.

Clint laughed, "Seriously? Is that even possible?"

"Apparently," Phil said gesturing to the file. "It's all in the file how exactly the science works. Bottom line, if they place strong enough charges in strategic locations throughout the area they'll be able to trigger a seismic event and detonate the volcano. If the volcano erupts, expect ash deposits large enough to cave in roofs and lava flow up to thirty miles away from the site. Assuming the surrounding states could be evacuated, there would be a limited amount of life lost immediately. But most of the central and western US would be decimated by the ash, meaning a loss of arable land. Food supplies would dwindle and the massive population displacement would hurt the economy further. That's just what would happen in the few months immediately after. Expect continued death and environmental problems for decades after that."

"So what are we supposed to do exactly?" Clint said, he'd stopped laughing once he'd heard the possible outcome.

"Stop it," was Phil's answer.

Natasha spoke up, "Do we know who's behind it?"

Phil shook his head, "We don't have much beyond a rumored name for the organization: the Green Light. They're an extremist group that blames all of the world's problems on the US and worships Mother Earth. They think that by destroying the US through a natural disaster will fix the earth and solve all of their problems."

"Great, so we're being sent to Yellowstone to stop a suspected terrorist attack from a crazy environmental group that hates the US," Clint muttered. "Do we know when the attack is going to happen?"

Phil shook his head again, "No. But we do believe there are a couple of moles working for Park Services, helping feed information to the Green Light. You're mission is conditional: first, find out if the plan exists and what exactly the plan is as well as when it will be executed, second, if you discover that a plan exists you are to stop it at any cost."

The two agents nodded in understanding.

"You'll be going undercover for an indefinite period of time with very little contact with SHIELD," Phil continued. "You're cover is two friends on a trip to Yellowstone, with no definitive end to it."

"Will people buy that?" Clint asked. "I mean does anyone actually just travel to a National Park and stay there for as long as they can?"

Phil shrugged, "It appears so. According to the briefing specialist, it's something a lot of wealthy children do, spend a while in the 'wild.'"

Clint snorted, "Yellowstone doesn't exactly count as wild."

Phil smirked, "Yes, well, most give up after two weeks without staff catering to their every whim."

"Do we have a plan for discovering if the plot exists?" Natasha asked, bringing the conversation back on topic.

"You'll know who the potential moles are and will have access to them. The two of you will also spend a lot of time outside, hiking around and looking for anything out of the ordinary," Phil explained.

Clint eyed Natasha sideways, "Yeah, Phil, I don't think either of us have spent a whole lot of time in the wilderness recently. I doubt we'll be able to quickly identify if something is 'out of the ordinary' or not."

Phil shrugged, "I'm sure you'll figure it out. The good news is that no one will think it strange for the two of you to be carrying weapons there. Yellowstone is open for hunting during this time of year. SHIELD will ensure you have the necessary permits and that you're kept informed of what you can and can't hunt. Clint, you'll be able to carry your bow in the open without too much of a problem."

Clint struggled to hide his happiness at that fact, he loathed long-term undercover missions where he couldn't take his bow.

"The two of you will be staying at a lodge for the first few days before moving into a private cabin farther into the park. You're best chance to connect with the moles is while at the lodge. Any questions?"

Natasha looked up, "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Phil said.

"I thought this was time sensitive," Clint shot at the man.

Phil shrugged, "It is, but that's the earliest we could get things set up at the park. This way you both have some time to pack and prepare for this. Wheels up at 0700 hours, I recommend staying on base tonight so you aren't late."

Clint nodded, "What are we doing today?"

"Consider it a gift, Barton, I'm giving both of you today off of training. All you have to do is prep for this mission," Phil said with a smirk.

"See you tomorrow morning, boss." Clint said. He rose and left the room, Natasha following a few steps behind him.

The two agents spent the rest of the day packing, checking over their weapons, and reading the file Coulson had given them. Natasha researched information on the super-volcano, while Clint chose to look up the environment they would encounter in the park. Apparently there were hundreds of geysers, springs, and pools due to the volcanic activity in the area. He smiled to himself, he would definitely be dragging Natasha to see Old Faithful a couple of times. He just hoped she could handle herself without constant access to civilization; he didn't need to be stuck with a stereotypical city-girl who couldn't handle nature.

* * *

_Wyoming—2007_

SHIELD flew the three agents from New York to Jackson, Wyoming the next morning. Phil would be staying in Jackson while Clint and Natasha continued on to Yellowstone. Like he'd said, they would have incredibly limited contact with SHIELD for the duration of the mission. The first two weeks of the mission would be spent in the Grant Village Lodge. After that they would move to the more remote Roosevelt Lodge Cabins, complete with their own private bathroom, and stocked with enough food for a month.

Both agents were thrilled that they'd have a private bathroom while on the mission, it could cause problems if they had to shower daily with strangers. Sometimes it's hard to hide suspicious injuries from prying eyes. Knowing they would remain in the park for an indefinite amount of time, Clint and Natasha stopped at a grocery store on their way out of Jackson to stock up on foods they didn't think SHIELD would provide.

At the Grant Village Lodge, they realized exactly what their cover story meant: two friends out to enjoy the wilderness, they'd only booked one room. Unfortunately, there had been a mix up with the Lodge (more likely SHIELD was too cheap to pay for a double) and their room only had one bed. By the time they'd checked in and unpacked some, it was early afternoon and they were hungry.

Clint and Natasha chose to visit the shops surrounding the Lodge, hitting the General Store for snacks. They'd be visiting the Lake House Restaurant for dinner, since that's where one of the potential moles worked as a waiter. How much damage a single waiter could cause, Natasha didn't know.

The Grant Village shops provided enough entertainment for the two assassins, though they did begin to grow tired of the seemingly unending supply of shirts with cheesy sayings on them. Things weren't as tense as they had been between the two of them while they wandered around.

Around 1700 hours, the two decided to head over to the Lake House Restaurant. Natasha struggled to hide her disappointment as they entered the restaurant. It was an American version of a pub, complete with burgers and fish and chips being the main offerings on the menu. She didn't mind American food, but it did grow old quickly.

"What?" Clint asked, sensing her mood.

She shook her head and didn't say anything.

The hostess sat them at a small table beside a window, affording them a view of the lake the restaurant sat beside. A young man walked over to them and pulled out a notepad for taking orders. He smiled as he spoke, "Hi, my name's Brandon and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What would you like to drink?"

Clint glanced at the menu, noting they had a wide selection of beers. He didn't know if Natasha planned on drinking while they were here, but he intended to get at least some enjoyment at being away from New York and back in a less crowded place. Clint had grown up in Iowa, then spent years traveling with the circus. He like wide open, natural places. "I'll try the Old Faithful Pale Golden Ale," he said. "And can I get a water with that?"

Brandon scribbled down the drink, "Of course. Can I see your ID, please?"

Clint chuckled as he pulled out his ID. They weren't using aliases this time, so his license had his real name and birthdate printed on it. Brandon nodded and turned to Natasha.

"I'll just have water, please," she told the young man.

Brandon nodded again, "Will do. I'll be right back with those."

"We got lucky," Clint said. "He's a potential mole and we get him waiting on us all night."

Natasha merely glared at Clint.

"What?" he asked, unsure of why she glared at him.

"You're drinking on the job?" she questioned, eyebrow raised in scorn.

He snorted, "Like you've never drank before while working. In fact, I remember watching you down a glass of champagne in Minsk..."

She sniffed, "That was part of my cover, I don't think what you're doing is particularly professional."

Something clicked in Clint's mind and he smirked at her, "You're just jealous because I'm old enough to legally drink, and you can't. SHIELD used your real birthdate for the ID, so you're stuck being nineteen while on this mission."

Natasha ignored him and turned back to her menu, reading it until Brandon returned a few minutes later with their drinks.

"Do you all know what you want?" he asked, pulling out the pad once again.

Natasha gestured for Clint to go first.

"I'm going to do the 'Create Your Own Burger,'" Clint said. "Can I get a bison burger with American and cheddar cheeses, lettuce, tomato, ketchup, pickles, mustard, and onions?"

Brandon nodded and wrote down the order, "Anything else?"

"Oh yeah, can we also get an order of fries?" Clint added, you couldn't get a burger without french fries in his mind.

"And for you?" Brandon asked Natasha.

"I'll take a West Thumb Burger with beef, please," she said, folding up the menu and handing it to Brandon.

"Great, those will be out in a little while. Do you want me to bring the fries now?"

Clint nodded, "If you would."

"Great, I'll be back in a jiff," he said before darting off.

The restaurant was beginning to fill up quickly as people returned from their adventures in the park. Clint and Natasha ignored them, they quietly thanked Brandon for the fries he brought, but otherwise barely spoke. Natasha gazed out the window, occasionally eating a fry or two while Clint focused on eating and people watching.

He sighed before turning to face his companion, "You know it probably looks a little weird that we aren't talking to each other. We're supposed to be friends."

Natasha shrugged, "What do you want to talk about?"

Clint was slightly taken aback, he hadn't expected her to agree to talking so quickly. No, he'd expected an argument to get her to actually communicate with him for something other than the mission or to criticize him. He hummed thoughtfully before speaking, "We could figure out what we're going to do tomorrow?"

"Okay," Natasha said with a nod.

A long, slightly awkward, pause followed before Clint spoke, "So what are we going to do tomorrow?"

"I don't know. I assumed you had some idea since you wanted to talk about it," Natasha replied mildly.

Clint ran his hand through his hair, she was driving him crazy, "I just didn't know if you'd been to Yellowstone before and had some idea of where and how to start.

Natasha snorted, "Barton, I hadn't been to the US until you brought me here."

Clint's jaw dropped, "Really? But—Really?"

Natasha nodded, "Yes really. Therefore I have no idea where we should start."

"Okay," he said, a serious frown gracing his face for a moment. "Here's what we're going to do. You and I are going to hit the tourist spots around here, we'll hike, maybe even head over to Old Faithful."

"How exactly does that pertain to our assignment?"

Clint glared, "Well we need to know the area if we're going to stop a bunch of crazies from blowing it up. Do you have a better idea? Because from what I can tell, neither of us have any idea how to complete this mission. They really think two people can cover the entire park and stop a plot to destroy it?"

"No, I don't have a better idea, I just wondered if there was any logic to your suggestion. And you're right. This is ridiculous and nearly impossible. But you and I are known individually for doing the nearly impossible, so theoretically, as a team we'll be even better at it."

Clint smiled, "Look at you, supporting our partnership and not trying to burn it to the ground."

Natasha kicked him under the table, her features freezing into a cold expression, "I'm not the one who started a shouting match and then refused to talk to the other outside of training for two weeks."

Clint looked down. Brandon's arrival with their food stopped him from having to come up with an answer. She had a point, and clearly didn't appreciate his joking around. He settled for a quiet, "I was kidding," before settling in to enjoy his burger.

Natasha ate in silence, grateful for the distraction from their conversation. She knew she had been a bit harsh on him for the joke, but she still hadn't forgiven him for his outburst in Mexico. Honestly, she wondered if they'd be able to successfully complete this assignment together. They hadn't even been able to enjoy a meal without sniping at each other.

Brandon returned as they were finishing eating, asking if they'd saved any room for dessert, and offering the check when they replied they hadn't.

Clint accepted the check, "Hey Brandon," he said. "My friend and I just got here this afternoon and we don't have a plan for tomorrow. Is there anything you recommend checking out while we're here?"

Brandon shrugged, "Well most people like to visit the Lake Shore geyser. And I recommend doing the West Thumb Geyser Basin Hike. Are you staying at the Lodge?"

"We are," Clint confirmed.

"They'll have a map of the hiking options in the area for you, if you want," Brandon said. "Oh, and definitely spend some time down by the lake!"

"Great, thanks for the information man," Clint grinned.

Brandon left with a slight wave in their direction.

"There," Clint said with a cocky smile at Natasha. "We have a plan for tomorrow. Also, we should probably go to all of the places he didn't mention. If he's a mole for the Green Light I doubt he'd advise tourists to go to the areas where something's afoot."

Natasha nodded, "You're probably right."

Clint used the SHIELD credit card he carried to pay their check, before standing and offering Natasha a hand up. She steadfastly ignored him and rose on her own. They left the restaurant and headed back to their room.

The room was decent enough, a little to "cutesy" for Clint and Natasha's tastes, but at least it had a bathroom with good hot water pressure. Natasha took a shower as soon as they returned from dinner, claiming she felt dirty from the flight and drive.

Clint snorted softly, if that made her feel dirty he doubted she'd do very well tomorrow on their hikes.

Natasha stayed in the shower as long as was acceptable. She knew Clint would get suspicious if she used it for too long, and maybe he wanted to use it too. The towels provided by the lodge were soft but small. Natasha could barely cover herself with it, a fact she greatly hated when she realized she'd forgotten to bring clothing into the bathroom with her.

With a glance into the mirror, she opened the door and stepped out. Clint had turned on the TV and looked up at her when she emerged. His eyes immediately returned to the TV before flicking back to her once he'd realized what she was wearing.

"I need clothes," she muttered in explanation.

Clint made a valiant attempt to keep his eyes to himself, even turning away when she bent over to rifle through her bag, but he snuck a few peeks. Clint couldn't deny that his partner was incredibly attractive, and seeing her in a tiny towel with dripping hair didn't help him ignore that fact.

Natasha could feel Clint's occasional gaze on her as she grabbed her clothes. She stood and noticed him looking mostly away from her, something she didn't realize she would appreciate until she saw it. She returned to the bathroom without another word and changed quickly. Natasha ran a quick brush through her long hair then stepped outside again.

Clint stood when she emerged, "Finished?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to grab a shower too," he said before entering the bathroom himself.

Natasha moved to sit on the end of the bed, realizing exactly what the one bed thing would likely mean for them: Clint would offer to sleep on the floor but she would refuse and insist they share the bed. She owed him, she could at least make sure he slept in a bed instead of on the floor.

Clint showered faster than Natasha had, and made sure he didn't let thoughts of her in the towel invade his mind. The last thing he needed right now was to get aroused because of his partner. It was still early, but he'd probably suggest they turn in early in order to get an early start the next morning.

As he grabbed the other towel in the bathroom, Clint realized he'd done exactly what Natasha had. He'd forgotten his clothes in the other room. He cursed silently to himself as he wrapped the towel around his waist and went to retrieve a pair of boxers and pants.

Natasha didn't say anything as he dug through his bag, merely turned back to the file she was reading through.

Clint reemerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, still shirtless. He rubbed his short blond hair with the towel then tossed it aside on the floor.

Natasha made a disapproving noise under her breath.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Obviously something's bothering you, you made a noise," he said, imitating her noise.

"Nothing, I just think it's a little... juvenile to throw your towel on the floor," she commented without looking up from the file.

Clint glared at her, something that went unnoticed due to her attention to the paper in her lap. He huffed and stalked over to his towel. Picking it up with a dramatic flourish, he returned to the bathroom and hung it over the towel bar.

"Happy?" he demanded.

Natasha didn't answer.

Clint flopped onto the bed next to Natasha and flipped the TV back on, "So how many times are you going to read that file before you have it memorized?"

"I already have it memorized, I'm just being thorough," she said.

Clint snorted, "And are you this thorough on all of your assignments?"

"Just the ones where I have an irresponsible partner."

"Irresponsible?" Clint asked, furious. She thought he was irresponsible when she's the one who had botched their last mission.

Natasha shrugged, "You weren't even willing to pick up your towel. Who knows how prepared you are for this mission?"

Clint's voice dropped to a dangerously low level as he hissed, "Listen to me carefully, I will always be prepared for missions. Don't ever doubt that and don't ever question it. Unless you start to trust me some, you and I are never going to be a truly successful team."

Natasha didn't react to his statement.

Clint continued to flip channels until he settled on some crime drama. Natasha wasn't paying much attention to the TV, other than being annoyed at the constant noise it emitted. She really didn't need care to watch TV, she didn't see the point. Then again, Natasha had never really had a chance to watch TV before.

"It's the CIA," Clint muttered as he stared at the TV.

Natsha looked up, "What's the CIA?"

"The CIA ordered the polygraph for Director Shepherd in this," Clint explained, gesturing at the TV.

"Ah."

"You don't even know what I'm watching," Clint accused her.

Natasha shrugged, "I don't particularly care."

Clint scoffed, "Please, Romanoff, you're naturally curious. You're dying to know what I'm watching and you know you want to figure out every little detail of the plot before it happens."

"I'm really not. And is that what you do?" she asked.

He smirked, "It's NCIS. And it's a good exercise in problem solving and logic."

"Never heard of it, and how would that be? From what I know most TV show creators take great pleasure in making up outlandish plots."

"From what you know? Romanoff, have you ever watched TV before?"

Natasha bristled, "Of course I've-"

Clint cut her off, "For pleasure. Not because you were on a mission or in training and you had to."

"No."

Clint was baffled. Never in her life had she watched TV for pleasure? What had she done for pleasure then, "Do you ever do anything fun in your free time?"

"I train."

Clint shook his head, "Put away the file. There's another episode on after this one. Tonight we're introducing you to the beauty that is watching TV."

Natasha stared evenly at the man.

"I'm serious. I'll take the file from you if I need to. You're not going to gain anything more by rereading it," Clint threatened.

She waited a solid thirty seconds before moving from her position to put the file back into her bag, just so he knew exactly whose choice it was that she watch the show instead of study the report.

Clint chuckled quietly at her stubbornness then moved over on the bed, "Now you have to actually come sit next to me and relax. That's why people watch TV, to relax."

Natasha paused again before moving up a bit farther into the bed. She then trained her attention onto the television.

Clint quickly found himself paying more attention to Natasha than the show. It was almost funny to watch her react to the show. Towards the end of the episode, Clint noticed the slight frown that graced her features. Her brow was furrowed and her lips held tight.

She turned to face him as the credits played, "Who was that man at the end?"

"That was Jeanne's father, La Grenouille. He's the bad guy they've been hunting for most of the last season," Clint explained.

Natasha nodded and returned her attention to the TV screen. The next episode was starting.

When the second episode had finished, Clint turned to Natasha expectantly, "Well?"

She shrugged, "It wasn't bad but there are other ways I would have preferred to spend my time."

Clint shook his head in exasperation and turned off the TV, "You're hopeless Romanoff. We really need to get you to be a bit more cultured."

Natasha scoffed as she moved to the bathroom for her toothbrush, "I would think that not being constantly hooked on TV would prove just how cultured I actually am."

Clint simply shook his head in response. He grabbed a pillow and blanket off the bed and began making himself a spot on the floor. Natasha came back from the bathroom as he was adding the last blanket (one he'd found in the closet).

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He glanced down at the floor, thinking it was pretty self-apparent what he was doing, "Making myself a bed for the night."

Natasha shook her head, "We're both adults. Unless you have a problem with it, there's no reason we can't just share the bed."

Clint frowned, wondering for a fleeting moment if she had some ulterior motive for offering to share the bed.

Natasha smirked at him, "We can't have an old man like yourself getting sore from the floor when we have to go hiking tomorrow."

The glare she received was exactly as she'd expected.

Clint finally spoke, "If you insist. And I'm only three years older than you Romanoff, now Phil, Phil's an old man."

The two flipped the lights on either side of the bed off and lay down to sleep, back to back. Each had stashed a gun and a knife beneath their pillow, not knowing if they would need either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please take the time to review!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Okay. Clint, you know protocol for captured agents," he warned softly.
> 
> "I'm not leaving her!"


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone knows, I plan to continue updating this daily for the time being (there will probably be a point in mid-April where I miss a day or two because of school stuff).
> 
> Thank you Karolina94 and 2sassyformyowngood for the wonderful comments!

_Outside of Fort Collins, Colorado—1998_

Clint shivered and cursed as he shouldered into the tent. He and Barney had been with Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders for two years now, and while it was certainly better than the years they'd spent at the orphanage, it was far from pleasant. Carson had taken the boys in only because they promised to work, and to earn their keep. So far they'd managed not to let him down. The performers were whom they really needed to impress. Swordsman served as the leader of the employees, with Trickshot as the enforcer (Swordsman never really saw the lengths Trickshot went to when it came to keeping the performers in line).

Clint had gotten on the wrong side of the Prop Master when he got caught playing with the props right after joining and Barney had started bonding with Trickshot, always running errands for the man. Only in the last year had Clint begun to make a name for himself. When Trickshot caught him practicing with a prop bow and some arrows, he decided to train the young man and turn him into "The Amazing Hawkeye." But those things didn't matter much because in the eyes of Butch, the man who assigned tents to the employees, who still saw Clint and Barney as two teenage boys just tagging along with the circus.

"Fuck," Clint swore as he moved to sit next to the small heater in the tent, rubbing at his arms and hands, desperately trying to regain feeling. Trickshot had just made him spend several hours outside shooting, practicing his routine. And of course, they'd only taken a couple of short breaks (only when Trickshot needed a smoke or to use the bathroom).  _It's March_ , Clint thought bitterly to himself.  _Why the fuck isn't the weather warming up?_

He shook his head at his folly, he knew why, because this was Colorado and in a good year they only had two winters, this year the entire nation had been facing unprecedented cold. He shouldn't have been surprised by the frigid weather. The tent provided little comfort to the teenager as he moved as close to the wire heater as he dared. Butch had given the crappiest tent, thin and filled with small holes, to Barney and Clint, providing them with only one blanket each and the smallest, most temperamental heater. Upon beginning to regain the feeling in his hands, Clint stripped off his gloves and moved to wrap his blanket around himself. He nearly grabbed Barney's blanket too, but hesitated while thinking about his brother's reaction should he take the blanket.

Barney Barton stormed into the tent as his younger brother made the decision to not take the extra blanket. He glared at the younger man, snarling, "Are you enjoying yourself? Sitting in here, out of the wind and cold with the heater?"

Clint opened his mouth to respond, wanting to tell Barney that he had only just returned after hours spent outside. Barney had been helping out in the main tent, where massive heaters kept the space warm. He'd only been outside for the fifteen-minute walk to their tent.

"Move," Barney commanded, shoving Clint out of the way and grabbing his blanket in the process. "You don't get to use the heater anymore."

Clint forced the hurt not to show on his face, he didn't want Barney to know that his cruelty affected him. Instead, he stood and left the tent. He decided to head over to the mess tent and see if the cook would give him something warm to eat in exchange for some help.

The biting wind cut through his thin coat and strengthened the chill already in his bones.  _Winter sucks_ , he thought.  _Barney sucks. Trickshot sucks._  Forcing his unhappy thoughts down, he made his way across the circus' set up, shivering the entire way.

* * *

_Somewhere In Yellowstone National Park—2007_

Natasha kept her eyes closed as consciousness returned to her slowly. It was never a pleasant experience returning from blissful darkness to an unknown situation, yet it seemed to happen fairly often to her. She kept her eyes closed as she listened intently to her surroundings. The room seemed to be empty aside from herself. She hadn't heard any other movement or breathing.

Opening her eyes, she examined the room critically. Her captors had tied Natasha's hands to the back of the chair she sat on, however they'd left her feet free (a rookie mistake, especially when dealing with someone of Natasha's skill level). The room was made of rough logs, fitting together tightly so none of the elements could get in. There was no other furniture besides the chair she occupied and a bare wooden table, although the rug taking up most of the floor had deep indents where furniture had recently sat. The door was directly across her with only a handle visible from the inside. Natasha assumed it was locked, or her captors were even stupider than she'd previously believed.

Natasha thought back to the last memory she had before waking up: she'd been alone at the cabin while Clint was out putting up motion sensors when Sally Metzker had shown up at her door with some hot coffee to share. Natasha had graciously accepted, knowing that she needed to maintain Sally's trust in order to get closer to her husband. The next thing she knew she was falling to the ground as sleep tugged at her relentlessly and Sally ushered a group of men into the cabin.

The door to the room creaked open and in walked four people: Carlton Wozniak, the man Clint and Natasha assumed was the leader of the Green Light; Sally and Bob Metzker, standing proudly behind him; and Brandon, trying to stay hidden in the background. One look at them told Natasha that they knew she wasn't just some hapless tourist, so there was no point in playing that angle.

Carlton stepped forward, "Natasha, so nice of you to join us. I'm sorry about the rude nature of your arrival here, but I assure you that no harm will come to you now."

Natasha scoffed, "No harm if I answer all of your questions, right?"

He inclined his head then gestured at Bob.

Bob walked over to the table and began unpacking the bag he carried. Natasha watched as he pulled out a couple of pistols followed by several knives and saws. So torture if she didn't cooperate. Natasha steeled herself, she'd survived worse.

Carlton stepped forward, "Who are you working for?"

She didn't respond.

"Natasha, I don't want to hurt you. But if you don't cooperate I'll be forced to use some of the tools over on that table," Carlton said calmly. "Now tell me, who hired you? I can hardly imagine a young innocent thing like you wanting to get involved in something this messy. They're probably forcing you to do this. I promise, you'll be leave here unharmed if you help us."

Natasha simply smirked, "You really think that I don't know how this works? That I've never been in this position before?"

Carlton lunged forward and punched Natasha square in the jaw. Her head whipped to the side with the force. She'd been hit harder. A harsh laugh burst from her lips, infuriating her captors further.

Sally stepped forward to glare at Natasha, "Why do you insist on resisting us? We're going to save the world! You can help, girl!"

Natasha rolled her eyes at the fanaticism shining in the woman's eyes. Sally swung and hit Natasha in the stomach, hard enough to make the breath whoosh out of her body.

"That's it?" Natasha taunted. "That's all you've got? You're weaker than I thought."

Bob approached in rage, "Don't speak to my wife like that!" He began raining blows down on Natasha as she struggled to protect her most vulnerable areas while tied to the chair.

* * *

_Approximately eight hours earlier…_

_Roosevelt Lodge Cabins, Yellowstone National Park—2007_

Natasha sighed as she sank into a chair in the living room of their cabin. Clint had left a couple of hours ago to run surveillance on Bison Peak. They suspected that was where the Green Light members had been meeting most often. The eleven and a half mile hike there should only take Clint three hours or so, then he'd have a couple of hours to set motion sensors and maybe even a few cameras and mics. Unfortunately, with the waning days of mid-October, Clint would have to head back fairly early in order to be home before the sun had set.

They'd spent over six weeks in the park, investigating and hiking. Natasha almost felt bad for Coulson who'd been stuck in Jackson, Wyoming for that time. Then she remembered that he had access to constant hot water and electricity. Since setting up in the cabin, the assassins had experienced a couple power outages and they considered it lucky to get a warm shower, let alone hot. The trees had changed colors (something that even Natasha had to admit was an incredible sight) and were now dropping their leaves.

During their stay, Clint and Natasha had befriended Bob and Sally Metzer, a married couple who were park rangers and suspected moles. Bob had been telling Natasha two days before that the weather was about to change, snow was on the way. As it was, the morning had dawned with a harsh chill and a weak sun. Clouds were starting to move in along the mountains and Natasha hoped Clint would make it back before the storm hit.

A sharp knock on the door drew her attention and she rose to check who it was, drawing her gun as she moved towards the door. Sally Metzer stood outside in her uniform, holding a thermos and smiling benignly at the door. Natasha returned the gun to her lower back and opened the door with a smile, "Sally, it's so nice to see you. What brings you by?"

Sally grinned and stepped through the open door, "I was around and thought I'd bring you some fresh hot coffee. I know how annoying it is to live out here with limited access to some of life's greater pleasures."

Natasha gave her a cheery smile, "That's sweet of you. Let me grab a couple of mugs and we can chat while we enjoy it!" She wasn't a huge coffee drinker and didn't look forward to having to sit through an entire cup of it with Sally. But alas, that's what she had to do for the mission.

Sally poured the coffee into the mugs, handing a full one to Natasha before filling her own. She looked expectantly at Natasha as she screwed the lid onto the thermos. With a repressed sigh, Natasha took a big swallow of the liquid, smiling at Sally sweetly. "It's delicious, thank you."

Sally smiled, "So where's Clint today?"

"He went out for a little hike, I wasn't feeling up to it so I stayed in."

"Oh that's too bad. Are you feeling better now?" Sally asked.

"I am. And it means I get some time to myself," Natasha said with a chuckle as she continued to sip at the coffee.

Sally glanced out of the front window, shifting in her seat.

Natasha frowned slightly, "Do you need to leave?"

The other woman shook her head, "Oh no, I was just checking the weather. Things are starting to get a bit stormy… So how long are you and Clint planning on staying out here?"

Natasha shrugged, "Oh we don't have a set date for leaving. I guess with the cabins and lodges closing soon we'll either have to leave or get a spot at a campground…"

Sally nodded, "Do you want to stay much longer?"

"I don't know, it's been fun but it'll nice to get home, back to modern amenities," she laughed, fighting back a yawn.

"Here," Sally exclaimed as she leaned over to refill Natasha's mug. "Have some more coffee!"

Natasha opened her mouth to refuse, but she was too late, her mug was already filled to the brim. With a soft sigh she began drinking the liquid, noticing that Sally had barely touched hers.

"How's Bob?" Natasha asked, stifling another yawn.

"Oh, he's good, out on one of the trails today looking to make sure everything's okay. I hope he doesn't get stuck out in the snow."

Natasha yawned again, frowning. She didn't know why she felt so tired all of a sudden, she'd slept relatively well (she hadn't suffered from any horrific nightmares anyway) and she hadn't done anything draining yet.

Sally glanced out of the window again.

Natasha's eyes began to drift shut. She squeezed them tightly then opened them again, standing up suddenly, still holding her mug.

"Is something wrong dear?" Sally asked.

Natasha glared at the woman as the world began to spin. "You d-dr-drugged me," she stammered out as she felt her knees buckle and the mug fell to the floor.

Sally frowned down at her, "I'm sorry, but we can't let you stop us."

Natasha's eyes slipped shut as she watched Sally open the front door and usher two men into the room. Darkness called to her as slipped into oblivion.

* * *

_Near Bison Peak, Yellowstone National Park—2007_

Clint glanced up at the rapidly approaching storm clouds and began swearing. He had only just finished placing the sensors and cameras around the trails on Bison Peak, it was now nearing midafternoon, and the first major storm of the season appeared to have arrived. Cursing internally, Clint began making his way down the last trail and back to the cabin.

When he'd left that morning it had been a balmy fifty degrees or so, no need for more than a light jacket. And the weather report he'd checked before leaving had given no indication of the impending bad weather. As the clouds moved to block out the rest of the sky, Clint shivered with the suddenly dropping temperature. He wasn't prepared to get stuck outside in the blizzard.

He'd felt a sense of wrongness since reaching the peak and wondered if that sense came from the storm. However, as he headed back to the cabin where Natasha waited he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The dropping temperature and lessening light didn't seem change his thoughts, merely making him want to get back sooner.

Clint broke into a slight jog once down the mountain. It was at least another ten miles back to the cabin. In good weather that would only take him a couple of hours. Now though? He guessed it would take him twice as long to make the trip. He didn't think he had that long.

Snow began to fall thickly about twenty minutes out from the mountain. Clint picked up his pace again, knowing the terrain would soon become too treacherous for him to move faster than a walk.

Four hours later Clint realized he'd drawn close to the cabins, he could recognize the trees around him despite the deepening snow whirling around him in the breeze. The wind picked up as he left the tree line and headed towards the cabin he and Natasha were staying in. Frowning he stomped up the steps of the porch to the front door, no lights were on to greet him and he wondered if Natasha was even there.

With hands shaking from the cold Clint pulled out his key and unlocked the door. His frown deepened at the scene that greeted him: a cold, dark room with no sign of his partner. Stepping warily into the space, he pulled out a hunting knife and moved inside.

The broken mug on the floor caught his attention. He glanced warily at the brown liquid leaking out from it before continuing towards the bedroom. He and Natasha had been forced to share a bed once again in the cabin. It appeared as undisturbed as when he'd left that morning. Clint walked into the bathroom and determined that the cabin was in fact empty.

Natasha wouldn't have left without telling him, he reasoned, refusing to question her loyalty to SHIELD. He began rifling through their remaining bags and gear and outfitted himself to go after Natasha. Unsure of where the Green Light would have taken her, Clint pulled up the feed for the surveillance cameras of the cabin.

He watched as Sally Metzer arrived at the door about eight hours earlier in the day, and then walked inside to drink coffee with Natasha. Clint pulled out his phone, cursing as he watched Natasha fall to the floor only to be carried outside by Bob Metzer and Brandon.

"Coulson," a voice said.

"It's me," Clint replied. "We've got a problem."

"What did Romanoff do?"

Clint sighed, "Why do you assume she did something?"

Silence met Clint's answer.

"Phil, you've got to start trusting her a little bit. And she didn't do anything, although she is part of the problem."

"How does that make sense?"

"You know I was going to scout out the trail up to Bison Peak today," Clint began. "Well Romanoff stayed back at the cabin. After trekking back through a freak snowstorm, not pleasant by the way, I arrived to a dark and cold cabin. She's gone."

"Barton!" Phil yelled. "You're telling me she took off but I should trust her?"

"Shut up, Phil, and let me finish!" he snarled back, tired of listening to his handler constantly doubt his partner. "She's been kidnapped by Bob and Sally Metzer and that Brandon kid. I checked the surveillance tapes."

A long pause greeted his last words, "How did they get her?"

"Looks like Sally brought her drugged coffee."

"Okay. Clint, you know protocol for captured agents," he warned softly.

"I'm not leaving her!"

Phil sighed over the phone, "I had a feeling you'd say that. Clint, you're sure she's worth the risk?"

Clint nearly threw the phone in frustration, "Phil, she's my partner. I'm not leaving her to be tortured and killed in the hands of our targets. So yeah, I'm sure she's worth the risk."

"Okay, how are you going to play this one then? You know the Council is going to be pissed," Phil said.

"I know, but if Romanoff's capture gives me the perfect opportunity to discover the whereabouts of the Green Light in Yellowstone and to thwart their plan I figure they can't complain too much. We're going to need an evac ready."

"Have you seen this weather?"

Clint interrupted the man, "Weren't you listening? I was just out in it! Won't stop me from going after her."

Phil snorted, "Please, I'll start worrying the day you let something like inclement weather stop you. What I was saying is that I won't be able to get anything into your area until the storm clears. Looks like the two of you will have to wait out the night before an evac."

"Noted," Clint said. "Now, do you have anything you can give me on Romanoff's location? I'm betting SHIELD still has her tagged. Also, I'm pretty sure she knows about the tag."

Phil hesitated before answering, "I'll text you the coordinates once I get them. As for her knowing, why hasn't she disabled it?"

"Hmmm… Maybe because she actually wants to be here?" Clint suggested, voice dripping with sarcasm. He changed his tone before his handler could reply, "Anyway, I just figured I'd give you an update. I'm going to head out as soon as I have those coordinates. We'll call when we've finished up here."

"Clint," Phil called before the phone disconnected. "Please pack appropriately for the weather. And be careful."

"I will," Clint replied before hanging up and going to throw some medical supplies into his bag. He didn't know what condition he'd find Natasha in, after all she'd been gone close to eight hours.

* * *

_Yellowstone National Park—2007_

Clint traipsed through the snow and wind, squinting through his ski goggles. He hated wearing such obstructive eyewear, preferring nothing or only sunglasses, but the biting cold and roaring wind required that he ignore his preferences in favor of not having damaged eyes at the end of the trip. The bright beam from his headlamp did little to penetrate the darkness and swirling snow around him. According to the GPS in his gloved hand, he was about a mile away from Natasha's location. Coulson had radioed the coordinates to Clint about ten minutes after they'd spoken; by that point, the assassin was pacing around the cabin, desperate to go after his missing partner.

Apparently, the Green Light had taken up residence on the eastern bank of Buffalo Creek, about two miles north of where it met Slough Creek. An old park ranger way station from the 1930s sat on the creek bank, kept in basic working condition in case any rangers were trapped in the area without being able to reach the newer stations. Sally and Bob Metzer would have access to it as park rangers.

Tapping the earpiece to life, Clint began speaking to his handler, "Do you have anything for me from satellite imaging?"

"Negative, Hawk," came the prompt reply. "The storm's too thick for us to see anything through it. We do have footage of them taking her inside about nine hours ago. The Widow appeared to still be unconscious at that point. Since then, only one other person has entered, identified as Carlton Wozniak, the suspected mastermind of this whole plan."

Clint nodded although the other man couldn't see him, "I'll be headed inside in about twenty minutes or so, let me know if something changes."

"Will do," Phil replied, resisting the urge to ask his agent to be careful.

Clint finished his approach to the station, working hard to remain unseen, helped by the vision-impairing weather around him. Stopping thirty feet from the building he began to watch. Natasha had been drugged nearly ten hours before, based on the shadows he could see through the flimsy curtains in the windows, it looked like three of the four Green Light members were in the main room. Clint watched for a few minutes as the fourth appeared then left his sight with the biggest of the group. Based on the shadows, it seemed that Bob and Carlton were gone while Sally and Brandon continued sitting in the main room.

Clint slid his bow off his shoulders and removed his outer gloves, stowing them in the cargo pants he wore. There was no way he could shoot with the monstrosities he'd had on before. He slunk up to the front door of the building and examined the lock, keeping an arrow loosely on the string. They'd locked the door, although the lock was flimsy. Deciding to maintain his stealth for as long as possible Clint pulled out a set of lock picks and got to work on the door.

Slinking inside, he released a soft breath as warmth began returning to his limbs. Sally and Brandon sat in the living room, Sally in the chair and Brandon sprawled on the couch. Clint dragged his arm back and pulled the string with the arrow on it taunt. He stepped around the corner and into view of the two terrorists.

"Against the wall," Clint barked. "Stay quiet or I'll put an arrow in you."

Sally and Brandon jumped up and moved to stand against the wall, both with eyes wide and slight tremors in their motions.

Clint stalked towards them, bow still raised, "I'm going to restrain you, but don't get any ideas about calling for help or making any noise. I will still shoot you."

They nodded simultaneously and continued to look at him in terror.

Clint pulled several zip ties out of his pocket and gestured to the two people in front of him, "Put these on each other's ankles. And tighten them while I watch."

They moved to obey quickly.

Once that had been accomplished Clint lowered his bow and approached with more ties, "Sally, put your hands behind your back and turn around."

The woman did as ordered with a slight whimper when Clint pulled the plastic restraint tight.

Pure instinct caused Clint to roll away and kick out at the figure behind him. Despite having his movement restricted due to the bonds around his ankles, Brandon had pulled out a hunting knife and taken a wild swing at Clint. Unbalanced already, Clint's swift kick toppled the younger man with a crash.

Sally screamed in shock and pressed herself closer to the wall, trying to remain invisible.

Clint cursed as he felt a sharp pain in his upper-left thigh. Brandon's fall had brought the knife around and given him the moment to dig it into the archer's leg. Without pausing, Clint ripped the blade out and jammed it at the man trying to kick at him still. Brandon shifted just slightly and the knife slid home between his ribs, likely puncturing a lung.

Brandon gasped as he fell flat onto his back, gasping for air as blood bubbled out from his chest. Sally screamed again.

The sound of a door slamming open caused Clint to drop behind the couch, hoping to remain out of sight. Gunfire erupted, spraying across the back wall of the living room. Sally dropped, a single hole in her forehead and eyes wide open in shock.

He drew his bow and glanced at the windows above him for a reflection. There, it looked like Carlton had decided to start shooting indiscriminately from the doorway of the other room. Clint assumed that's where Natasha was being held and moved to the end of the couch, dragging his right leg slightly as blood ran from his wound. He moved to a crouch and counted slowly to himself, the gunfire had stopped but he hadn't heard any movement from the doorway. Standing up suddenly he aimed at where he thought Carlton's shoulder was, then made a quick adjustment to account for the reflection's distortion. The arrow sailed through the air and slammed home in the man's shoulder.

Clint was already moving forward, charging the man in front of him.

Carlton held the gun loosely while he grabbed his injured shoulder, "Fuck, who uses fucking arrows?" he snarled.

Clint smirked, that was often the reaction he got when targets learned of his weapon of choice.

The sound of breaking wood inside the other room drew Clint's attention away from the target he'd just knocked to the ground. Natasha appeared to have attacked Bob while Carlton was distracted. She'd just smashed the chair she'd been tied to against the downed man.

Carlton managed to pistol-whip Clint while he was distracted, making the other man swear. Clint threw the gun away from the other man before kicking him hard in the stomach and knocking the wind from him. He rolled to his feet and spun Carlton around so his hands were held behind his back, irritating the arrow wound.

Natasha stood with a gun over a kneeling Bob, who looked slightly confused and upset.

"Carlton," Bob said. "Where's Sally and Brandon?"

Carlton shrugged as much as he could, "Don't know. Only saw Sally standing when I started shooting. Then she went down."

Natasha gave Clint a questioning look. He shook his head. Sally was dead.

It took Bob a second to process the information, "S-Sally? My Sally?"

Bob lunged for the gun Clint had carelessly thrown aside earlier and brought it around to aim at Carlton. He bellowed at the other man, "YOU KILLED MY WIFE YOU BASTARD!"

The gun in Bob's hand fired a split second before he dropped to the ground with a bullet through his heart. Natasha's gun smoked, and she looked at her victim with fury in her eyes. Clint found himself struggling to hold Carlton's dead weight as the man fell, gasping for breath around the bullet wound in his stomach.

Clint laid Carlton down on his back as Natasha moved to check Bob's pulse.

She looked up from the body and shook her head at Clint, he was dead. She then moved to stand beside her partner and the dying man he knelt beside.

"Tell us where the bomb is," Clint growled as he applied pressure to the wound in Carlton's stomach.

The man merely groaned in response.

Natasha scoffed at him, "Perhaps I should show you how to properly use those tools Carlton. I'm sure I could have you screaming the answer within a minute…"

Carlton visibly flinched at the malice in her voice, then coughed out a response: "It's… here…"

Clint gave his partner a questioning look. He had no doubt she knew how to use whatever tools were in the other room, however he knew he couldn't allow her to torture the man. He was showing her how to be good after all.

Natasha gave him a slight nod in acceptance of the answer, then walked over behind the couch when she heard a groan. Her condescending sniff told Clint exactly how she felt about seeing Brandon lying on the ground and groaning in pain.

"You know, Carlton," Clint said conversationally. "This bullet wound is most likely going to kill you. I'd be tempted to try to save you, but see you killed one of your own partners in cold blood, shooting at a target you couldn't even see, and I'm pretty sure you tortured my partner. I think I'll let you suffer for a while before you die."

"H-h-help," Brandon choked out when he saw Natasha standing over him. She knelt beside him and looked at the knife in his hand.

"If you had left the knife in I might be able to do something," she told him. "But now there's nothing I can do."

His eyes closed as he took a wheezing breath before he forced them open again, struggling with each word, "P-p-please. I-I'm sorry. Jus-just wanted money f-for my grandma. B-bomb in back o-of-of c-cabin."

Natasha took a deep breath before speaking, "Thank you, and we know."

Brandon's eyes slipped shut and his breathing became more labored, slowing rapidly. Natasha remained in her position until he lay still.

Clint moved away from Carlton's groaning form. He knew the man still had a while to cling to life, but he wouldn't last the night. Even with the medical supplies Clint had, he knew he couldn't save the man, not when it looked like his intestines had ruptured. The archer stumbled as he put weight on his injured leg, the adrenaline from the fight draining away and the pain being to pierce his mind.

Natasha noticed the man's slip and slunk across the room to him, "Бартон, какого черта ты сделал?"  _(Barton, what the hell did you do?)_

"Брэндон попал в удачный выстрел с ножом. Я в порядке," Clint responded in Russian, hoping to keep Carlton from understanding their conversation.  _(Brandon got in a lucky shot with a knife. I'm fine.)_

"Фигня. Дай мне посмотреть на него," she growled.  _(Bullshit. Let me look at it.)_

Considering protest, he looked at his partner and saw the bruising around her face. He gestured towards the other room, hoping she'd let him tend to her wounds if she could tend to his, "Моя сумка имеет запасы."  _(My bag has supplies.)_

Natasha grabbed the duffel from where it lay by the door and followed Clint into the other room, closing the door behind them. She realized he didn't want Carlton to think the Green Light had won even a little before he died.

* * *

Natasha examined the wound in her partner's leg with a skeptical eye. She didn't like the look of it. The blade had been a wicked hunting knife with a serrated edge. It had ripped through the muscles in Clint's thigh, leaving a nasty gash.

Clint winced as his partner prodded his injury.

"You're lucky this didn't hit your femoral artery," she snapped as she grabbed the bottle of antiseptic from the bag and went about cleaning the wound. Her lips tightened almost imperceptibly when she felt the heat rising from his leg.

The archer held himself as still as possible despite the pain pulsing from his leg.

"What could have possibly prompted you to come out here in a blizzard, Barton?" Natasha demanded.

Clint frowned, "You were captured—"

"Exactly! I know SHIELD protocol. You should have packed up and left me," she snapped.

"You're my partner," he ground out in response. She had just wrapped his leg tightly after packing it with gauze. "No way would I leave you as a captive. Fuck protocol."

Natasha remained silent, disapproval radiating from her.

"Let me look at that cut," Clint ordered as she moved away form him. His frown deepened when he saw her wince slightly while turning to look at him.

Based on the determination in the archer's eyes, Natasha realized she wouldn't be able to keep him from tending to her injuries. She moved to sit on the table with a roll of her eyes.

Clint gently cleaned the cut on her face, stiffening his leg when it began to shake from holding up his weight. He didn't doubt Natasha had failed to notice his weakness.

"Do I need to cover this?" he asked. "What with your healing ability?"

Natasha shook her head, still puzzling over Clint's decision to break protocol for her.

"Let me bind your ribs. Please," Clint said quietly.

Natasha started to shake her head but stopped once she met his gaze. The sincerity shining out at her persuaded Natasha to let her partner tend to her injuries. With a sigh, Natasha grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head, tensing as she jostled her injured ribs.

Clint's sharp intake of breath and darkening eyes caused Natasha to smirk, "See something you like, Barton?"

Clint shrugged and stepped towards her, forcing himself to remain calm and to not stare at the exposed skin. "We both know that's a loaded question with no right answer."

Natasha pouted, pushing her lips out slightly and looking at him from beneath her eye lashes, "How so?"

"Either I say yes and you are validated in your belief that I'm no different than any other man and all I want is sex. Or I say no and you get offended that I don't find you attractive," Clint replied, keeping his voice perfectly level. He pressed against the bruises on her abdomen experimentally. Trying to determine if there was any internal damage beyond fractured ribs. Satisfied with his examination, Clint gestured for Natasha to move her arms away from her body. He wrapped her ribs as gently as possible, trying not to jostle them too much.

Natasha had remained silent since his response, mulling over his words. Between his avoiding her trick question and breaking protocol for her, Natasha was even more confused about Clint Barton. Who was this man and what gave him the right to care about her?

Clint stepped away and handed Natasha her sweater after he finished. He moved to sit down, no longer able to ignore the pain in his leg. Natasha frowned at him, and he shrugged away the question about his leg. It hurt but he would survive.

"I'm going to check on the bomb that's supposedly out back," Natasha announced as she moved to leave the room.

"Romanoff," Clint called her back and handed her a knife from his boot. "Take my coat. And don't stay out too long, in this weather you could die of exposure."

She smirked at him, "I've spent winter's in Siberia, Barton. I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

Clint gave her a wry smile, accepting the validity of her statement, "Then I'll just wait here. Yell I you need anything."

Natasha turned and left the room, slipping through the door so quickly she almost missed her partner's words: "For the record, the answer is yes. Doesn't mean I'd ever act on it though."

A slight smile touched the woman's lips as she stepped out into the freezing wind and snow. She left the door of the cabin open so the light could spill out and illuminate the darkness. Finding the bomb was easy. A massive metal contraption stood directly out from the back door of the cabin. Examining it critically, Natasha determined that it hadn't been assembled yet and held no risk of detonation at that time. She'd radio Coulson and let him know where the bomb was once she got back inside. Natasha ran a quick perimeter sweep before going back inside. She raided the small kitchen in hopes of finding clean water and something she could heat up for the two agents. Judging by the storm they were trapped for the night.

Clint entered the kitchen as Natasha began preparing the cans of soup she found. He hung in the doorway, trying to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. Natasha frowned at him but didn't comment.

"We should take care of the bodies," Clint finally said, breaking the silence.

Natasha nodded and moved towards the door, "Where do you suggest we put them?"

He shrugged, "Outside somewhere. But probably not where animals can get to them."

"Well there's a shed out back we could probably stick them in. It's fairly ramshackle, but it'll at least give them some protection against animals," Natasha offered.

Clint nodded and started to move back to the other room, stumbling as his leg buckled.

Natasha hurried to his side and placed herself under his arm, "You aren't going anywhere. You can sit here and mind the soup."

The archer started to protest but stopped when he felt the weight of his partner's gaze. He knew she wouldn't let him get away with helping her move the bodies. He sat down stiffly at the small table in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the stove as he listened to his partner move the bodies out of the house and into the shed out back.

Natasha stopped and rummaged through Clint's bag on her way back into the house. She grabbed the satellite phone to contact Coulson and was disappointed to see that there was no sign of communication from him. And the storm had caused too much interference for her to get a message out. Moving back to the kitchen, she continued to heat the soup trying to keep from worrying about her partner. When she had helped him to the table he had been too warm, she feared that his exposure to the cold for most of the day and the unclean knife had left him infected, and to top it all off, they were stuck in this house until the storm ended.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please take the time to comment if you liked it, hated it, have questions, etc. Comments make me happy :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Barton, the power went out and we're in the middle of Yellowstone with no way out. I think the physical capabilities of goats are the least of our worries," Natasha replied dryly.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Recks and Karolina94 for the comments. I'm glad people are enjoying this story!

_Outside of Waverly, Iowa—1992_

The bouncing seven year old was a ball of energy who couldn't keep himself still. He and his brother were standing outside of the orphanage, waiting for their ride.

"Hold still," Barney ordered.

Clint and Barney had been living at the Waverly Home for Children for a year now, and despite the cruelty of the proprietor, Cole Herkel, they'd been relatively happy. Part of the state's program involved getting all of the children involved with community organizations, and through their school, Clint and Barney had been taken into the Boy Scouts of America.

Today was their first camping trip with the troop, and Clint couldn't wait. He'd never been camping before but he'd heard about it. Making fires, setting up tents, staying up late, and eating s'mores. He couldn't stand still. Not only was he getting away from Herkel for the night, but he's getting to go camping!

A car pulled up in front of the building and Clint started jumping, "They're here! They're here!"

Barney rolled his eyes and said with a fond smile, "I can see that, dummy. Grab your bag!"

Clint shouldered his backpack and sprinted to the car, grinning widely.

Barney followed at a slower pace, "Hi, Mr. Johnson."

Mr. Johnson, the leader of the Waverly, Iowa Boy Scouts of America troops, stepped out of the car and smiled at the two boys approaching him, "Hi Clint and Barney! How are you guys today?"

"Good!" Clint shouted as he swung his backpack off his shoulders and into the car Mr. Johnson had opened.

Barney just smiled at the man before climbing in.

"Are you ready to go camping?" Mr. Johnson asked.

"Yes! Are we gonna get s'mores?" Clint replied still practically bouncing in his seat.

The man chuckled as he started the car and pulled away from the orphanage, "Yes, we will tonight after we set up camp."

Clint yipped with joy, making his brother and Mr. Johnson laugh as they headed out of town.

* * *

_Jackson, Wyoming—2007_

Phil Coulson hung up the phone after relaying Romanoff's location to Clint.

Then called SHIELD again to arrange an evac for his agents.

Then he began to pace.

Phil Coulson did not handle his agents being in danger well.

He'd known something was wrong the moment the phone had rung. Ever since Fury had partnered Clint with the Russian assassin, Phil had just been waiting for the woman to turn against them. He was just waiting to get the call that she'd shot his agent in the back and bugged out. In this case, he'd been expecting Clint to tell him Romanoff had taken off. To hear she'd been captured and that Clint was going after her had been surprising. He remained determined to hold the Russian woman accountable until he knew if his agent was okay or not. As far as he was concerned, if Clint died or got injured trying to rescue her, well that was on her hands.

Thus began one of the longest nights he had had in a while. He spent most of it pacing and trying to see the coordinates where Romanoff's beacon continued to show. He didn't want to consider the implications of Clint's claim that she knew about the tracker. It either meant she wasn't going to betray them (which he still doubted) or that this was a trick and she had taken off, leaving the tracker behind to throw them off. If only he'd had the presence of mind to track Clint.

He shook his head at the thought, no he trusted Clint. The problem was that the man had a tendency to get in trouble on missions. The archer would definitely interpret the action as a sign of distrust, especially after everything that had happened in Minsk. And based on the archer's experiences when held hostage, he would not be happy if said tracker was found (as it likely would be). Very few SHIELD agents had trackers on them. Romanoff did simply because no one trusted her.

The sudden ring of the phone broke through his thoughts and had him scrambling over the couch to answer, "Coulson."

"What's going on?" Nick Fury demanded from the other end.

Phil sighed, "I don't know for sure. All I know is that Romanoff got captured and Barton went after her in order to take out the Green Light. That was an hour ago. At this point the storm is too bad for us to get satellite images or get in contact with them."

Silence greeted him before Fury replied, "Phil, you know Barton's breaking protocol again… Captured agents are supposed to be disavowed."

Phil sighed, "Yes, but not if their recovery is vital to the mission or if their capture provides an opportunity to complete the mission."

"We'll discuss it when you get back. A team will be ready to handle the cleanup. Let's just hope this doesn't backfire on us, Phil. You're boy is taking too many risks and breaking too many rules when it comes to Romanoff. If he's wrong…"

Phil nodded, his throat tightening, "I know."

"Keep me posted," Fury commanded before hanging up.

Phil set the phone back down and resumed pacing. Great, now he had to worry about Clint getting in trouble  _again_  for Romanoff. He swore to himself. He was stuck here until the storm passed and he was able to get in touch with his agents. Barton had better be alive and Romanoff had better be with him, he thought.

* * *

_Ranger Station, Yellowstone National Park – 2007_

Natasha managed to get her partner to take some antibiotics with his soup and water, insisting that it was better to be safe than sorry. Only her threat to stuff the pills down his throat had convinced the stubborn man to take it in the end. The pills made a reappearance an hour later, along with the soup he'd managed to eat. Natasha stood outside the bathroom as her partner retched into the toilet, silently hoping that he would beat the infection seeping through his body. The cold seeping into the old house did not improve her mood. She had arranged the few blankets she'd found in the house on the floor of the kitchen and turned the oven on in the hopes of warming up the building. Her mind snapped away from her thoughts as the bathroom door opened.

Clint sent her what was supposed to be an encouraging smile when he exited the bathroom. Natasha's raised eyebrow told him he had failed in reassuring her with what had amounted to little more than a pained grimace.

"'M fine," he mumbled before tipping forward slightly.

Natasha grabbed his arm to steady him, "Like hell you are, Barton. Come on, you need to lay down, and to try to eat a little something and drink some water."

Clint found himself unable to protest as she steered him into the kitchen where she had made a small nest of blankets and helped him settle down into it.

Natasha rummaged around in the pantry and came back with a piece of bread and a glass of water for him.

He took both without a word, and under Natasha's watchful eye ate and drank before laying back into the blankets.

"You should get some sleep," Natasha said softly.

Clint didn't bother trying to protest, he merely closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake him.

* * *

Clint woke to darkness and vehement cursing in Russian. He blinked hard, trying to get his bearings. The swearing was coming from his left and the voice definitely belonged to his partner. He heard her rummaging around in the bag he packed and he slowly pushed himself into a seated position. His whole body felt like it was freezing, except for the knife wound in his thigh which burned as he shifted.

"Romanoff," Clint said, voice still weak from sleep. He cleared his throat and spoke again, louder, "Romanoff, I don't think its possible for a goat to do that."

A beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating Natasha's form as she held a flashlight aloft. Clint's eyes quickly adjusted to the meager light.

"Barton, the power went out and we're in the middle of Yellowstone with no way out. I think the physical capabilities of goats are the least of our worries," Natasha replied dryly.

Clint let out a deep chuckle before trying to stand. Natasha was quickly at his side, pushing him down with a stern look.

"I'll go flip the breakers," Clint volunteered as he pushed against her hand.

"Please," Natasha scoffed. "I can flip the breakers just as well as you can, and I won't risk injuring myself further in the process. You're sick, you need to rest."

He sighed as he allowed her to push him onto his back again, "Fine, but if you aren't back in fifteen minutes I'm coming after you."

Natasha nodded and left the kitchen.

Natasha shivered within the thick coat she had worn outside (stolen from Clint) as the wind and snow hit her. She didn't have any idea where the circuit breakers might be other than somewhere on the outside of the cabin. Keeping her left hand on the side of the house, Natasha began to search for the box, moving her flashlight in a sweeping arc in front of her, hitting the side of the house every few feet. It was slow going, trading through the drifting the snow and keeping her bearings within the storm.

Finally, she reached the breaker box. Balancing the flashlight precariously between her neck and shoulder, Natasha managed to force the frigid metal door open. She held the flashlight aloft again with her left hand and began scanning through the breakers for the one's that had blown. Frowning, Natasha scanned the switches again. None of them appeared to have flipped. She pursed her lips and tentatively flipped the one labeled kitchen. She looked up at the house expectantly as she turned the switch back on then cursed. The lights should have come back on, if the power being out had been something she could fix.

Muttering Russian curses to herself, Natasha returned to the house and stomped her feet, knocking the snow off hers shoes. She kept the coat on, knowing that without heat things were going to get very chilly.

Clint's eyes glinted in the light from the flashlight when she returned to the kitchen. She sighed before speaking, "In case this day hadn't been fucked up enough, we've got no power. The storm knocked it out."

Clint frowned but remained silent, brain trying sluggishly to come up with a solution.

Natasha dug through their supplies and pulled out a book of matches and some cans of Sterno. With a hiss, the first match she struck burst into flame and she carefully lit one of the cans before repeating the process. She turned to Clint, "There that'll at least give us a little bit of light and heat."

"You should take one of these blankets," Clint blurted. "It's going to get cold."

Natasha scoffed, "I've survived worse with less Barton. Anyway, you've got a fever, you need the warmth more than I do."

Clint shook his head, "I'll be okay."

"You're not okay, Barton. Listen, we've only got a few more hours until morning. The storm will have calmed down and we can get a call in to Coulson."

"But—"

"Get some rest, Barton," Natasha commanded before she flipped off the flashlight and settled into a seated position against the wall. "I'll keep watch."

Natasha kept an eye on her partner all through the night, becoming increasingly worried as he began to toss and turn in his sleep. He was clearly fighting an infection and his body was struggling to deal with the combination of injury, infection, and cold. His lack of food or water probably didn't help either.

She startled awake a couple of hours later when Clint began mumbling. She moved closer to the man, thinking he had woken up and needed something. When she had drawn close enough, she began to make out his words: "Please… Don't… I'm sorry… Accident… Sorry… Sorry…"

Natasha's lips tightened. She had never heard her partner sound as weak and frightened as he did then. He looked young as he twisted and whimpered beneath the meager blankets. It was easy for Natasha to forget that he was twenty-two, only three years older than herself. He always acted far older. It dawned on her that she really knew nothing about his past… What could make a man like him whimper and beg for forgiveness? She was not the only one with demons in her past.

"Barton," Natasha called, trying to wake him up. She knew better than to reach out and touch him based on her own experiences coming out of nightmares. She called again, louder this time, "Barton, wake up!"

The man's eyes snapped open and Natasha watched as he tried to get his bearings in the dim light from the Sterno cans. He focused on her, still breathing hard, "Romanoff?"

"You were having a nightmare," she replied levelly.

"Yeah…" he said, voice distant and eyes scanning the room almost frantically, as though he wasn't quite with her.

She blamed his lack of focus on the fever he had been fighting and the remaining images from the nightmare.

Natasha stood up and moved to the sink smoothly. She could feel Clint's eyes on her back as he watched her movements warily. She returned to his side and held out a glass of water, "Drink this. You've got a fever and need to stay hydrated."

Clint took the class from her and dutifully drank the water. Natasha ignored the slight tremor in his hand as he tipped the glass back.

"Let me check your leg, too," She said, hoping he would continue to cooperate with her.

He nodded feebly and set the glass aside before shifting with a wince to give her better access to the injury.

Natasha scooped up the flashlight and gathered some supplies for tending his would. She handed Clint the flashlight with the stern order of "here, hold this" before she began to remove the dressing. She silently thanked the Red Room for getting rid of any squeamishness she had one possessed. Peeling the back the gauze had released a nasty odor of blood, sweat, and pus. Usually blood and sweat hat little impact on Natasha, but this was nearly too much for her. She knew a healing injury would not smell this bad. It was hard to get a good look at the wound in the harsh white light from the flashlight and the slight glow of the Sterno flames. But what she could see did not look good.

The skin was inflamed around the gash and heat radiated from it, worse than from the rest of Clint's fevered body. The stitches looked as though they were close to bursting and a on at the end had actually popped out. A trickle of blood ran down the edge of Clint's leg. Natasha gently wiped it away with a small square of gauze. She picked up the scissors next to her and looked at Clint.

"I'm going to cut open some of the stitches and see if I can drain some of the blood and pus away. Hopefully that will reduce the pressure and help it heal more," Natasha said.

Clint nodded at her and raised the flashlight to give his partner more light as she worked.

Cutting the stitches didn't take long and elicited little more than a slight tightening in Clint's grasp on the flashlight.

"This is going to hurt," Natasha warned as she held a bowl next to his leg and a pile of bandaging above it.

Clint nodded, "Do it."

He nearly knocked Natasha off balance when he violently flinched as she applied pressure to the wound. Yellow and red liquid ran out of the wound and into the bowl. Natasha repeated the process, pressing down more on his leg in order to drain as much of the fluid as she could. When the would looked cleaner, she used more antiseptic and restitched it before adding a layer of bandages.

Clint leaned back against the wall, breathing shallow and eyes closed as he tried to fight against the pain.

"If I give you antibiotics and painkillers can you keep them down?" Natasha asked. "What about food?"

Clint shook his head and then winced, "Based on how nauseated I am now? No to all of them."

Natasha nodded she had feared that answer. She didn't want to make him eat if he was only going to vomit it up soon after, he was suffering enough, "I'll get some more water."

"Where did you learn field medicine?" Clint asked after drinking some water and wiping the sweat off his brow. "The Middle Ages? Seriously Romanoff, that was some of the most painful 'help' I've ever had."

Natasha rolled her eyes, recognizing her partner's attempt to throw her off from his situation using humor.

"Yes, the Middle Ages," she replied dryly. "Be glad I didn't use leeches."

Clint huffed a laugh, "Well look at that, you made a joke."

Natasha merely smirked in response, "Go back to sleep, Barton, before I decide to leave you for dead."

Clint dutifully laid back down with a slightly pained smile, "Please, if you were ditching me here you'd have done it already."

Natasha didn't bother responding, instead choosing to move to the sink and begin cleaning the tools she'd used on his leg. A few minutes later she heard her partner's breathing even out as he once again retreated to the realm of dreams. She turned around from the sink and leaned back against the counter, blowing out a breath. Clint's wound continued to worry her because it was clearly only worsening. Even if the storm had ended by dawn and they could leave, she doubted he would be able to walk. According to the sat phone she'd found among Clint's things, they still had a little over two hours until dawn.

The cabin rattled as a powerful gust of wind hit the building. Natasha moved to the front room and gazed out the window at the storm. The amount of falling snow seemed less than a few hours ago, when she'd ventured outside to fix the power. Even the wind seemed to be dying down. However, the foot and a half of fresh snow would prove challenging in the morning when they had to leave the cabin. Only Clint had decent footwear for snow, she had only a pair of tennis shoes. Sighing, she returned to the kitchen, where it was slightly warmer. She resumed her former spot on the floor and managed to sleep for a few hours.

* * *

Morning greeted the park with cheery sunlight reflecting off of the snow and bitingly cold air. Sparkling snow blanketed everything in silence, the trees weighed down by its bulk, drifts settling against the bases of the trees. The freezing temperatures did little to encourage anything to leave its safe, warm home.

Natasha jerked awake and blearily blinked in the morning brightness as an obnoxious bell noise invaded her consciousness. It took only a moment of confusion to pinpoint the noise to the satellite phone. Grumbling to herself in Russian, she grabbed the phone and snapped it open.

"Romanoff," she greeted.

"Sit-rep," Coulson's calm voice demanded.

Natasha stood and moved next to her partner as she began speaking, "The Green Light has been terminated, the bomb is disarmed and sitting out behind the cabin, and the bodies are in a shed. Barton got himself stabbed in the leg with a hunting knife, it's infected. Based on what it looked like last time I checked, he's not going to be able to walk out of here."

The hitch in Coulson's breathing betrayed his worry, despite his voice remaining even, "Is he conscious?"

"Hang on," Natasha said as she set the phone to the side.

"Barton," she called. "Barton, wake up."

Clint's eyes opened, clearer than they had been the night before, but still slightly unfocused as he gazed at her.

She picked up the phone again, "He's up now. Still has a fever though."

"Put him on the phone."

Wordlessly, Natasha offered the phone to Clint.

"Coulson?" he asked as he accepted.

She nodded and moved to pack up their things, ignoring the one-sided conversation happening. By the time Clint had closed the phone, she had repacked the bag Clint had brought.

"Evac will be waiting for us two miles east, we've got an hour" Clint said when she turned to him. "It's the closest clearing they could find where the helicopter could land. They'll take care of cleaning out our cabin and this place."

Natasha nodded, "We should get going. Can you walk?"

Clint gave her an exasperated glare, "You sound like Phil. I'm fine."

Natasha merely raised a challenging eyebrow and watched as he tried to stand. She let him struggle for a few minutes before stepping forward, "Barton, let me help you."

He started to protest but stopped when pain throbbed through his leg. Loath though he was to admit it, Clint Barton needed help. He grabbed Natasha's offered arm and allowed her to help him balance as he rose. She guided him to the table and had him.

"You can't put any weight on that leg."

Clint opened his mouth to protest before giving up. He hadn't been able to do more than hop over to the table.

"How's it feeling?" she asked as she withdrew the medical supplies and moved to unwrap his leg.

"Better than last night, much better than after your Dark Age medical practices," Clint smirked.

The flesh around the wound remained inflamed and hot to the touch. However, the wound itself looked better than it had last night, the bleeding had stopped and the stitches didn't look as strained.

"How does it look?" Clint asked.

Natasha shrugged, "Not as bad as last night but still not good. At this point, I don't want to mess with it."

Clint nodded.

"Before we go, you need to eat something and take some medication. You need some antibiotics and I want to make are your fever doesn't get worse, again," Natasha said as she replaced the bandages.

"Is there any more soup?" Clint asked. "I think I could keep that much down."

Natasha managed to scrounge up enough soup for the two of them, heating it in a can over one of the Sterno burners. They ate quickly before heading out towards the waiting helicopter.

Hiking through over a foot of snow in non-waterproof boots and thin socks was not a pleasant experience, Natasha discovered. Having to haul her injured partner along didn't exactly help either. She had kept Clint's outer coat for herself and stolen his fingerless gloves (they almost covered her fingers), leaving him with a fleece pullover and heavy gloves. Neither of the assassins were warm, but they weren't going to freeze anytime soon.

They'd only made it a mile out from the ranger station when Clint needed to take a break. He leaned against a conveniently placed rock outcropping, favoring his leg. His ceaseless cheerful chatter disgusted Natasha and she considered knocking him out or leaving him just to get a moment of silence. But she doubted SHIELD would be very understanding if she left him and he was too heavy for her to carry on her own.

So far most of his chatter had involved him planning what he would do while on medical leave. She hoped that his threats to make her join him for watching movies and cooking would amount to nothing. She might actually kill him if he made her join him.

"Alright," Clint said, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm tired of waiting on you Romanoff."

Better men had quailed under the glare Natasha leveled at him.

"So tell me, have you ever seen  _The Lord of the Rings_?" Clint questioned as he looped his arm around her shoulders again and they began making their slow way towards the rendezvous point.

"Sounds like a chick flick," Natasha replied, fighting to keep her annoyance hidden. She had a feeling her partner kept up the incessant chatter just to get a reaction from her.

The man spluttered before hotly replying, "It's only the greatest fantasy movie series every made. Seriously, revolutionized filmmaking. I'm adding it to our list."

"Our list?"

"Yeah, our list."

"List of what, exactly?"

"Movies we're going to watch whenever we're on base. We really need to get you educated on pop culture."

"What if I don't want to watch?"

Clint smirked, "Now you sound like a petulant child, Romanoff. Anyway, you'll like them. Promise."

The snow suddenly surrounded Clint's body and he looked up from his new position on the ground to see Natasha standing above him wearing an evil smirk.

"What was that for?" he asked angrily.

Natasha folded her arms in response.

"Seriously? I just want to watch some movies with my partner, get to know her a little better and make sure she understands the valuable references I can make…" he muttered to the sky.

Receiving no response, Clint continued talking to the clouds, "You know, if I didn't know better I'd think she didn't like me. But I know that's not true."

A disbelieving snort broke through Natasha's desire to not respond.

"Want to know how I know? It's because she hasn't left me yet. She actually stuck around and made sure I survived the night and now she's hauling my ass through the snow to the jet. She likes me," he continued, now starting to smirk.

"Barton, the reason I didn't leave you for dead in that cabin and make a run for it is because I know SHIELD still has a tracker on me. I doubt they'd be particularly kind to me if I let you die," Natasha stated flatly.

Clint pushed himself into a sitting position and studied her for a moment before looking back up at the sky, "Yep, definitely likes me."

Natasha's angry growl only made him laugh.

"Get up, Barton, we're going to be late and the less time I have to spend with you the better," Natasha snarled as she grabbed his arm and forced him to stand.

Natasha didn't speak again until they reached the clearing and waiting chopper. Unsurprisingly, Phil Coulson stood waiting outside with the SHIELD clean up team.

Phil raised an eyebrow as he saw the two assassins walking towards him, Clint clearly depending on Natasha to keep him standing.

Natasha unceremoniously dumped Clint on the ground in front of Phil and looked at her handler, "He's all yours now."

She stalked away and climbed into the helicopter, ignoring Clint's curses as he tried to pick himself up again.

"What'd you do to her?" Phil asked nonchalantly. Clint couldn't be too hurt if he was able to curse so fluidly.

Clint looked mildly offended as his handler helped him to his feet, "Why do you assume  _I_  did something?"

Phil merely raised an eyebrow.

* * *

They flew the helicopter out of Yellowstone, to a small airfield where a jet sat waiting. The flight back to the New York base passed in relative silence, Phil and Clint occasionally talking while Natasha sat in silence, just watching them interact. She was still trying to figure out why Barton had come after her, despite protocol saying he should have left her. And even more confusing: her own choice to stay with him through the night and day. Yes, she'd told him it was only because she was still tracked, but she could disable the tracker easily enough…

Everything she'd learned in the Red Room said she should have left, that joining SHIELD was the right choice in order to save her life, but she should cut and run as soon as she had the chance. She didn't though. Something made her stay. And if Natasha was being honest with herself, that reason was sitting in the back of the plane with a knife wound in his leg. How had that annoying man managed to worm his way through her defenses and get her to want to stay, to want to be better? She didn't know the answer, and she was almost afraid to find out.

As for why he'd thrown protocol out the window and gone after her, well he'd said it was because they were partners. Natasha had never had a partner who actually saved her before. Who actually cared. No, her experience with partner work in the Red Room had been less than pleasant. Half the time, they were trying to kill each other, and the other half she ended up stuck with an older spy or soldier who had permission to do whatever they wanted to her. Could she really trust Barton? He had certainly proven himself so far. Hell, he'd gone so far as to actually trust her. Maybe her decision to stay with him meant that she was considering him her partner too…

One thing was for certain, she owed Clint Barton more than she could ever repay.

Natasha blinked slowly as they began their descent to the SHIELD base, pulling herself away from her thoughts and back to the moment. The two men across from her in the plane both straightened as well, preparing to disembark. Natasha noticed that Barton's expression looked pained, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the wound in his leg. Coulson had glanced at it and (at Clint's insistence) decided that it could wait until they got back to base before giving it more medical attention.

Sanders from medical met the trio in the hangar with a wheel chair, frowning when he saw the way Clint was leaning on Coulson as they made their way down the ramp.

"Barton," Sanders said sternly. "What did you do this time?"

Clint rolled his eyes, "You act like I wanted to get stabbed… I don't need the wheelchair, Sanders."

"No? Then take five steps on your own," Sanders challenged with a smirk. "I'll let you walk to the infirmary if you can."

Clint grimaced and tried to take a step without Coulson's aid. He stumbled and would have crashed to the ground had Natasha not grabbed his arm with a long-suffering sigh and a raised eyebrow. He merely glared at her as she dragged him over to the wheelchair and pushed him into it.

"I'm fine…" he muttered under his breath.

"Sure you are," Natasha said in her most patronizing tone. "That's why I had to half-carry you to the helicopter and why you spent most of last night with a high fever. You're fine."

Sanders shook his head as he led the way out of the hangar and towards the infirmary. Clint continued to grumble as Phil wheeled him through the halls. Sanders gestured to Natasha when she started to split off from the group. "I'm assuming you're the one who gave him medical care?" he asked.

Natasha nodded, "I didn't do much beyond stitch him up, give some painkillers and antibiotics, and take his temperature."

Sanders gave a curt nod.

Clint snorted, "She's leaving out the part where she used medieval medical practices to torture me!"

Natasha nearly rolled her eyes but explained in response to Sanders' questioning look, "In the middle of the night the wound was very swollen with pus and blood, so I drained it."

Sanders smirked and turned to Clint, "What? You can't take a simple draining? And here I thought you were some sort of badass."

Clint's glare only intensified while Coulson fought a smile of his own. It was nice to know that his agent was okay enough to snark at the people around him. And the fact that Romanoff seemed to be responsive to his behavior, well that just about blew Coulson out of the water. But he knew that Clint had this annoying way of getting people to like him if he tried. And boy was Clint trying with this one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: She frowned as she read the message, "SOS need help can't get a hold of Phil please come #842 door code 90735."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Karolina94 for commenting on the last chapter. It's nice to know you're liking my story.

 

_Waverley, Iowa—1989_

Clint could barely reign in his enthusiasm when his father left that night. His family  _never_  got time without Harold Barton around. The man didn't want his wife and kids to experience any freedom at all. He made sure to always be around, or to make sure they knew exactly what they were and weren't allowed to do. But on this night, he had to leave them in order to go to a business meeting. It was really just an excuse to go out drinking, and his boss had implied he'd be considered for termination if he didn't show up. So, Harold had left, instructing his wife and sons to stay in the house and not do anything other than go to bed after dinner.

Clint's mom was in a good mood. She had an easy week at work, and things at home have been good (well as good as they ever are). So she decided they can have a little fun before Harold gets back. As long as the kids are in bed when he gets home, he'd never know. They would eat grilled cheese and drink apple juice for dinner. And do it in front of the TV, Clint getting to pick the movie. He settles on  _Black Cauldron_  because it's as old as he is!

It's a bit of a scary movie for the four-year-old, but curling up between his mom and big brother makes everything seem perfect.

Two hours before Harold had said he'd be home, the front door opened and he entered the house fuming. The business dinner hadn't gone well and the alcohol had only fueled his rage.

His roars filled the house as he grabbed his wife and started shaking her.

Clint pulled his blanket up and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the happy night he'd had until his dad came back home. It almost made the beating worth it.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York —2007_

Sanders finished patching Clint up, complimenting Natasha's medical treatment after hearing what she had done and admonishing Clint for getting himself injured. Again.

"Barton, you're banned from training and missions for a month," Sanders said as he finished tending to the injury.

"Now doc, don't you think that's a bit much? How about a week?" Clint negotiated.

"One month then a check up, if everything goes well that's when I'll clear you. And you're on crutches for the next week, at least."

"I don't need crutches."

"Be glad I'm not making you use a wheelchair," Sanders threatened. "If I don't think you're using the crutches, I'll restrict you to base and put you in an infirmary bed."

Clint opened his mouth to continue arguing but stopped when he saw Phil shake his head.

"What am I supposed to do for an entire month if I can't train or anything?" Clint whined instead.

Phil smirked, "You could go out and experience the world."

Clint made a face, "That sounds terrible Phil, how about you guys let me keep training and going on missions instead?"

Phil simply laughed in response.

After leaving the infirmary, Phil led his agents—Clint on crutches—to a briefing room. Inside, Nick Fury awaited them.

"Agents," Fury greeted.

"Director," Phil replied respectfully.

Natasha nodded as she took a seat.

Clint smiled sarcastically at Fury, "Oh Director, you didn't need to come all the way down here just to see if I'm okay. Sanders says I'm fine."

Fury's glare turned to focus on Clint, "Don't be cute Barton. You broke protocol again. Give me one reason why I shouldn't fire you here and now. The Council wants you out, and frankly I'm beginning to agree with them."

Clint had the decency to look somewhat remorseful before he responded, "Sir, as you know, I think the protocol regarding captured agents is bullshit, and I know you agree with me. As it is, my breaking protocol allowed us to successfully complete the mission. That's why you aren't going to fire me: you know I'm going to do the right thing, regardless of orders or protocol,  _and_  I'm going to finish the mission."

Fury continued to glare.

Phil sat down and prepared to take notes. He cleared his throat to break the tension, "Start from your last check-in."

Natasha glanced at her partner before speaking, "Agent Barton left around 0800 hours to run surveillance up Bison Peak. I remained at the cabin…"

The debrief had taken most of the afternoon by the time they were free to go.

"Hey Romanoff," Clint called as they left the briefing room. "You staying on base or in the city?"

"In the city…" she said warily.

He grinned, "Great! So you can give me a ride home."

Natasha frowned and started to refuse.

"Sanders said no driving and since you're headed to the city it works out perfectly," he continued, with a smirk.

She studied him for a moment, "You're not going to accept my refusal, are you?"

Clint's smirk grew wider.

Natasha sighed, "Fine." She wasn't going to fight him on this when all she wanted to do was get back to her apartment, get some food, and sleep.

They grabbed their stuff recovered from Yellowstone from their quarters before heading to the motor pool. Natasha checked out a car, ignoring Barton's complaints about not being able to take his bike.

The drive into the city nearly made Natasha shoot her partner. He spent the entire ride fiddling with the radio (but first he mocked her choice of Classical music), singing along to the radio (loudly and poorly), and talking (about absolutely nothing). Natasha had never been more relieved than when Barton got out of the car.

She returned to her apartment and settled in, preparing to enjoy a month of relative relaxation. With Barton out of commission, SHIELD didn't want to send her out in case she turned on them. Not likely, she thought, not with the tracker in her for sure. All she had to do for the month was keep up her training. She'd get to avoid SHIELD, although she knew someone would always be keeping an eye on her.

* * *

_New York City—2007_

Three days into the break, Natasha was back to contemplating killing her partner. The man texted her constantly, trying to get her to come over and watch movies with him. He'd tried everything from bribery to threats. She had stopped responding two days before.

Her phone chirped, alerting her to the new message.

With a long-suffering sigh, she set her book aside and picked up the phone. She frowned as she read the message, "SOS need help can't get a hold of Phil please come #842 door code 90735."

Natasha pursed her lips for a moment deputing her options: ignore the text and assume he was fine, risking being wrong; or accept he needed help and go help, risking it all being an elaborate method to get her to come over. She sighed. She owed him not only for sparing her in Minsk, but now for rescuing her in Yellowstone. She soon found herself headed to Clint's apartment after sending him a text: "This better not be a joke."

She parked the car in the nearby parking garage, using the code Clint had texted to get past security without paying. She headed into the building, typing in 90735 at the necessary keypad. She then began the long climb up to the eighth floor. Natasha avoided elevators whenever possible, simply because they were too easy to get stuck in. Years of survival had taught her to always have an escape plan.

The dimly lit hall outside of the stairwell made her raise an eyebrow. She'd expected something less—sketchy. Various items sat outside of most doors: bills, trash bags, empty bottles, and even some clothes. 803… 805… 807… Natasha sighed, this was going to be a long walk through the dingy hall, dodging obstacles and hoping no one saw her. She might hurt Barton if he made her walk through the filth for no reason. The hall took a sharp turn and continued to the right when she reached 829. Sighing, Natasha continued on until she found 842, one of the few doors without stuff sitting outside of it.

She raised a fist and knocked, unsure if Barton would be able to answer or not.

Movement on the other side of the door, alerted her before it swung open, showing a grinning Clint balancing on crutches. He wore a pair of loose blue jeans, hanging low on his hips, and a purple t-shirt.

"Oh good, you're here," Clint said as he pushed himself out of the doorway. "Shut the door behind you."

Natasha stepped insider, eyes narrowing as she glanced briefly at her surroundings before refocusing on the man in front of her. Her voice was deadly when she spoke, "What's the emergency?"

Clint scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish, "Who said emergency?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed and she took a menacing step forward.

Clint held up his hands in surrender, "You were ignoring me. How else was I going to get you to come over?"

A gun appeared in her hand, aimed directly at Clint's head.

"Hey now, let's not get too upset," he said quickly.

The standoff broke only when a timer went off in the kitchen, drawing their attention away from each other.

"Oh good popcorn's done," Clint said and turned away from her, headed to the kitchen.

Natasha holstered her weapon and followed him, still fuming. "Why the hell am I here?" she demanded.

Clint pulled the bag of popcorn out of the microwave and dumped it into a bowl. He then carefully balanced the bowl in the crook of his right arm before hobbling out to the living room with only the left crutch.

Crossing her arms, Natasha decided she wasn't going to move from the kitchen until he answered her question.

"Why am I here?" she repeated when he returned.

"You said you hadn't seen the  _Black Cauldron_. I figured we could start your American education there and then move on to some other Disney movies."

Natasha growled, "Barton, I don't want to watch movies with you. I don't want to spend time with you. I don't want to bond with you."

Clint shrugged, "Well that sucks because I'm not giving you a choice. We're supposed to work together and trust each other, and you know what, that means I want to get to know you and I want you to experience some fun things for once in your life. So suck it up because you aren't leaving until we've watched at least three movies tonight."

Natasha was too shocked by his suddenly dominating tone to come up with a clever retort.

"Now, before we get started, what do you want to drink? I've got beer, water, milk, apple juice?"

Natasha wrinkled her nose, "Apple juice?"

"You don't like apple juice?" Clint asked, sounding personally offended.

She shrugged, "I've never tried it. Sounds terrible. Why would I want to drink an apple?"

Clint's jaw dropped, "Never… Apple juice… What? Next you'll say you've never had juice at all…"

Natasha stayed silent.

"Seriously, no juice?"

"No, they weren't exactly concerned with giving us fruit drinks in the Red Room."

Clint shook his head and moved to the fridge, pulling out the jug of apple juice before grabbing a glass. He poured a full glass and held it out expectantly to her.

Natasha took it carefully, unsure of his motives. She sniffed it tentatively, sweeter than she expected, and not very apple-like. She raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip.

"Well?" Clint demanded.

She shrugged, fighting to keep the smile she felt hidden, "It's alright."

Clint scoffed, "Alright? It's better than alright. Come on, let's get started on the movie. Bring your juice."

Natasha followed him with an amused half-smile as she took another sip of juice, he was right it was better than alright.

"What if I don't want to watch a movie?" Natasha asked petulantly. She'd already resigned herself to spending the rest of the day here, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

Clint just smirked, "Well I'm going to watch movies and since I'm making you spend the day with me, that means you have to watch with me."

"And what are we watching?"

" _The Black Cauldron_. Now shut up and drink your juice. It's starting."

Natasha rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from Clint as possible.

He chuckled, "You're going to have to come closer if you want any popcorn."

She frowned but slid a few inches closer, refusing to acknowledge the man's self-satisfied smile.

A blue background appeared, with white lines forming a castle with a rainbow and "Disney" written beneath it. A deep voice began to narrate: "Legend had it, in the mystic land of Prydain, there was once a king so cruel and so evil, that even the Gods feared him…"

Throughout the entire movie, Clint kept sending excited glances at Natasha, trying to decipher her reaction to the movie. She did a good job of keeping her face blank, although he caught a few hints of smiles, and she even frowned when Gurgi fell into the cauldron. But her eyes were the most expressive, even she couldn't keep the amusement—and was that almost happiness?—from making her eyes shine.

"Well?" he demanded as the credits began to role.

She shrugged nonchalantly, "Seemed a bit ridiculous. Magic pigs, weird dog creature, evil cauldron."

Clint made an undignified noise, "It's an animated fantasy movie, it's not supposed to be realistic. Watch what you say next, this is my favorite Disney movie."

"I suppose it could have been worse. There's more?"

"Yes.  _Mary Poppins_  is next."

"What's that one about? A magic watch?" Natasha taunted.

Clint just smirked, "You'll just have to see. And hey, if you're nice during this I'll let you pick what we watch next!"

After watching the horse race in the chalk drawing, Clint paused the movie and looked at Natasha, "You hungry?"

She shrugged, though the answer was yes. She hadn't had a large breakfast and it was now mid-afternoon. A moment later her stomach growled, betraying her non-answer. She frowned down at it, annoyed that her body was betraying her.

Clint laughed, "I'll take that as a yes. Pizza okay?"

Natasha shrugged and watched as he grabbed his phone and began dialing.

"Do you like pepperoni? And black olives?" Clint asked, holding the phone away from his mouth.

Natasha shrugged for a third time, earning her an eye roll from Clint.

"You can't complain if you don't like it," he said. "Hi, yeah, can I get a large with pepperoni, black olives, and onions? And throw in an order of cheesy bread…"

He rattled off the address and gave the delivery guy the code before hanging up and looking at Natasha, "It'll be here in half an hour."

The movie resumed, once again captivating the two assassins. The sudden knock on the door (exactly twenty-nine minutes later) made both of them whip around and reach for weapons. Clint relaxed immediately when he realized it was the pizza. He grabbed his wallet off of the coffee table and moved to the door, leaving his crutches behind.

Natasha rolled her eyes in aggravation, of course he wasn't using the crutches like he was supposed to. She stayed out of sight of the delivery person, still playing it safe and keeping her identity a secret.

"Thanks man," she heard Clint say, followed by the door closing.

A moment later he reappeared in the room and set the pizza on the coffee table.

"You want anything else to drink?" he threw over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.

Natasha stood and followed him—carrying her empty glass, "Sure."

"Water, juice, milk, beer?"

"Just water."

Clint gestured to the tap, "Help yourself."

She filled her glass and returned to the living room. Clint followed with a stack of napkins and a bottle of beer.

"Shouldn't you be using your crutches?" Natasha said.

"Don't need 'em."

She snorted, "Your limp says otherwise."

"You're not my doctor, Romanoff, so lay off. Anyway, it almost sounds like you care…"

"I don't. But I figured since you brought me here based on the assumption that you were injured, the least I can do is make sure you don't actually hurt yourself further," Natasha said sweetly.

He frowned, opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head, deciding not to respond.

"So we've got pizza and cheesy bread. Eat up," he declared, opening the boxes and digging in.

Natasha watched with one eyebrow raised in condescension.

Clint swallowed a large bite and looked at her, "What you've never had pizza either?"

"I've had pizza. But I've always eaten it like a civilized person before," she snapped.

"Sweetheart, we're in America. Here we eat pizza with our hands unless there's so much on it that it will just all fall off if we pick it up. This is crappy delivery pizza with only a couple of toppings. Get off your high horse and use your fingers."

Natasha glared and hissed at him, "Don't. Ever. Call. Me. Sweetheart. Again."

Clint rolled his eyes and returned to the movie.

When the credits began to roll on the movie, Natasha turned to look at Clint expectantly, wondering what he had planned next. She doubted he would let her pick the next movie, let alone leave (as she tried to convince herself she wanted to).

Clint faced Natasha with a sappy grin, "Wasn't it great?"

"Better than the last one, though still a bit trite. Why would a grown man want to watch it?"

"You liked it. And I watch it because I watched it when I was a kid. I always hoped Mary Poppins would show up and fix my family," Clint explained, his smile turning melancholic.

Natasha didn't know how to respond. She barely remembered her parents beyond vague ideas and impressions. Based on what she knew of Clint, he'd once had a family, complete with a brother. And he'd found family, of a sort, in the circus. Now he had Coulson, but that was it. She'd never had anyone after being taken into the Red Room.

"It's supposed to teach good lessons about obedience and respect and trust," Clint continued after a moment with a smirk at her. "I was hoping you'd learn something from it."

Natasha made an indignant huff but refused to respond further. She stood up and stretched, "Well if that's all…"

The blonde man shook his head, "Oh, we're not done yet. See the stack of DVDs on the edge of the TV stand? You can pick the last movie we watch today from that stack. Feel free to ask questions if you don't know what they are."

Natasha hesitated before approaching the aforementioned stack of movies.  _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_  read the first case. She set it aside with a frown. She recognized that one. Others followed, some titles sticking out in her mind:  _Sleeping Beauty_ ,  _Toy Story, The Incredibles,_ and  _Peter Pan_. She pulled out the one that had caught her eye the most. The deep blue background contrasted with the yellow-gold of the characters' clothes and the redness of the rose seemed to call to her. Natasha turned back to Clint and held up the DVD.

He grinned, " _Beauty and the Beast_ , great choice!"

Natasha shrugged, "The seemingly animate household objects probably mean it's ridiculous."

"Put it in the DVD player."

Natasha obliged and returned to the couch, flinching slightly at the sudden burst of sound as the trailers began to play.

About an hour and a half later, Natasha rose from the couch, stretching, "There, three movies, now I get to leave."

Clint tutted at her, "Not until you give me an opinion on  _Beauty and the Beast_. You did pick it after all."

"The music was decent, at least Belle was fairly intelligent, but still ridiculous—especially the dancing dishes."

"So you liked it."

She didn't deign to respond, but rather moved around the couch and towards the door.

"See you tomorrow, Romanoff!" Clint called over his shoulder as she let herself out.

* * *

Natasha woke early out of habit and though she wanted nothing more than return to sleep, she couldn't. Indistinct images from the nightmares she'd suffered plagued her mind. After tossing and turning for thirty minutes, she rolled out of bed and changed into yoga pants, sports bra, t-shirt, and running shoes. The chilly New York weather raised goose bumps on her bare arms as she stepped out of the building. She set out at a light jog, allowing her muscles to warm up. No need to risk an injury when she could take the time to start slow. Pacing herself for the first mile, she sped up soon after, focusing on the burn in her lungs and the building ache in her legs.

Running kept her distracted from the nightmares.

But allowed her mind the space it needed to dissect her day with Barton.

She frowned as her thoughts turned towards him. Loath though she was to admit it, yesterday had been enjoyable. She appreciated his efforts to befriend her, though she balked at the idea of actually becoming friends with him. No, she was the Black Widow. She didn't have friends, because friends were a weakness. You never knew when they'd turn around and stab you in the back. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way in the Red Room. At least she'd come out on top of that confrontation. Admittedly, his desire to educate her on American culture could be valuable. She really didn't know as much as she thought she did, as evidenced by her complete lack of knowledge of the movies he'd shown her yesterday.

Two hours after she began running, Natasha was approaching her building. She'd resolved to ignore all of the texts and calls she received from Barton for the next several days. He'd said he'd see her today, but she had every intention of doing the opposite. Trudging up the stairs to the eighth floor, she pulled her keys out of her shoe and stepped into the hallway. Her apartment lay directly opposite the stairs, making it easy to spot any approaching threats and to escape from the building if necessary.

She froze as her eyes lit upon her door. And the man sitting outside of it with a black backpack on his lap.

"There you are," the blonde man said with a lazy smile as he struggled to his feet. "I've been waiting for an hour."

Natasha approached slowly, keeping her face emotionless in order to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing he'd touched a nerve. How dare he show up here, at her apartment, without warning her? Furious didn't even begin to express her feelings.

Wordlessly, she opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside.

Clint crowded in behind her, not giving her the chance to close the door in his face.

_Sure, come on in_ , she thought sarcastically at him.

He let out a low whistle as he took in the surroundings, "Dang Romanoff, you did good with this place."

Natasha spun around to face him, invading his personal space and making him step back, "Why are you here Barton?"

Clint fought not to flinch at her snarl, he wasn't sure he'd ever made her this angry before, "We're hanging out today."

"No. We aren't."

"But we made plans," he whined.

"You saying 'see you tomorrow' does not constitute us making plans. You tricking me to come over to your house yesterday does not mean I want to hang out with you. You showing up on my door step does not give you the right to barge into my house and demand we spend time together."

Clint had the decency to look abashed.

"I'm going to take a shower," she continued in a deadly calm voice. "You had better be gone by the time I get out."

Without another word, Natasha stalked into her room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Clint looked around the apartment for a moment before sighing. He'd screwed up, he admitted to himself. He'd pushed her too fast and now she wanted nothing to do with him. His aching leg forced him onto the couch, and into admitting that he should have brought the crutches. He'd climbed the stairs to her floor, craving the exertion he'd been forbidden from, but maybe Sanders was right.

Looking around the sparsely decorated living room, Clint realized just how empty her space was. Nothing personal sat in the room, other than a few books on the bookcase, but even those seemed to be related to the job, not to Natasha. Hell, she didn't even have a TV.

Smirking slightly, Clint came up with a plan and settled back into the couch cushions, determined to wait until she finished her shower. He might die for his choice, but he thought it was worth the risk. She was worth the risk. Though his plan was going to be a bit more challenging without the crutches… He definitely should have brought the crutches because hanging out with Natasha would probably never just be hanging out with Natasha.

Emerging from her bedroom, Natasha frowned when she saw the man sitting on her couch. She squeezed her wet hair with the towel in her hand and moved into the kitchen, ignoring Clint. After filling the kettle with water, she grabbed a mug and bag of tea from the cabinets. She returned to her room to hang the towel, still studiously ignoring Barton. He had to go away eventually.

When Natasha headed back into her kitchen, Clint stood and followed her. He leaned casually against the bar trying to act nonchalant but actually hoping to reduce the weight on his leg. Natasha's raised eyebrow told him she wasn't fooled and knew exactly what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," Clint said after she had finished making her tea.

Natasha finally faced him, her blank expression making him continue.

"You're right," he said with a shrug. "I shouldn't have shown up here unannounced and I am pushing you too hard. I also think that we could be great friends. You may not have any experience with friends or trusting people but you can trust me. I just want to show you that you can."

Natasha's gaze softened slightly, allowing Clint to see that she accepted his apology for the moment.

"Let me make it up to you."

The corner of her lips quirked, showing her piqued curiosity.

"You're house is pretty sparsely furnished. Let me take you shopping. We'll get a TV, DVD player, maybe some movies. Heck, even books to help fill in that empty bookcase. I'll help carry everything while we shop and then bring it up here and get it set up. Then I'm gone."

Natasha sipped at her tea while considering his offer; finally, she nodded once.

Clint couldn't help the relieved grin that spread across his face. He'd half expected her to try to kill him.

"So, when should we get going?" Clint asked, hoping she wouldn't change her mind.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "After you sit down for a few minutes. Your leg clearly hurts."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Sit. Down." The glint in her eyes warned Clint that she would put him down if necessary.

Sighing, Clint pushed away from the wall and headed back to the couch. He threw a glance over his shoulder, "It sounds like you care."

Natasha snorted, "You said you'd carry everything for me, I can't have you giving out halfway through the day." She washed out her mug before setting it in the drying rack and moving back to her room in order to put on shoes and grab her wallet.

Clint couldn't help smirking at her back as she returned to her room. He muttered, "Totally cares."

"Let's go," Natasha commanded when she emerged from her room. She didn't know why she'd agreed to go shopping with Barton, other than the enticing option of making him carry everything. His apology had thrown her for a loop, she hadn't thought that he would realize the boundaries he had crossed by just showing up. And she wouldn't mind getting a TV for her apartment, purely so she could keep up on news. As for the books he promised, well Barton was in for a surprise. She had every intention of filling her shelves to the brim.

Clint stood up and led the way out of her apartment, "We'll start with the smaller things. That way we don't have to carry the TV for as long."

"We?" Natasha asked condescendingly.

"Okay, so  _I_  don't have to carry the TV for as long," he amended. "I guess books first because we'll get the DVDs at the same place as the TV and DVD player."

Natasha nodded.

They reached the street when Clint came to a stop. He lifted one arm to scratch the back of his head before speaking, "So… I don't really know any good bookstores… I don't read a whole lot…"

The red head rolled her eyes and turned away from him, "Come on Barton, there's one just a few blocks away. And an electronics store three blocks past it."

Clint happily fell in beside her as she began walking, "How's New York treating you?"

All Natasha did was shrug in response.

"C'mon Red," Clint cajoled. "Can't we have a decent conversation while we shop?"

Natasha rounded on him, "Enough with the nicknames, Barton. The next time you use one will be the last time you have the ability to produce children."

The man flinched at her threat, "You wouldn't…" He stopped and looked at her before shifting away a step, "Okay, you would. Sorry. No more nicknames. But you still haven't answered my question. How's New York?"

Natasha sighed before answering, "It's fine. Loud but at least it's entertaining."

"Good," Clint said. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't love New York."

"Are you from here?" Natasha asked before she could stop herself, allowing her curiosity to show.

Clint shook his head, "No. I was born in Waverley, Iowa. Lived there until I was about ten, then ran off to the circus and spent the next several years traveling all over."

They continued walking before he spoke again, "I didn't truly get to know New York until I joined SHIELD. Four years has given me quite the appreciated for it."

"Has it?"

"Yep. It's always nice when you can come back from a mission and order food to your house at three in the morning."

"That's a good way to get killed."

Clint frowned.

"Tap someone's phone line and wait for them to order food. When they do, you show up as the delivery person and they open the door," she elaborated.

"Do you spend all your time plotting how to kill people?" Clint asked incredulously.

"No."

He rolled his eyes in response, "So it's just that you don't trust anyone."

"You're right. I don't trust anyone."

Clint stopped again, "You're going to have to trust someone eventually. I hope that someone is me, because we're partners. And you  _can_  trust me."

Natasha was struck by the earnestness of his words. She cleared her throat and turned away, not wanting to continue the conversation, "We're here."

In front of the assassins stood a large bookstore. The windows filled with displays and posters of the new releases. Large free letters spilled across the red-brick façade, spelling out "Barnes and Noble Booksellers."

Clint chuckled, "Well you've clearly adapted to American life. You picked one of the largest bookstore chains in the country."

Natasha shrugged, "I haven't had a whole lot of time to explore. Eventually I'll find some smaller shops."

Clint shrugged and followed her inside. He wasn't a big reader but he could appreciate a good book when he found it. Maybe he could talk Natasha into getting the book form of the movies he wanted to show her. With any luck, that would make her more willing to watch the movies.

Once inside, Natasha steered towards the classics section. She'd read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky as part of her Red Room education. The classics section had given her the familiarity she had sought. She had begun to branch out, away from Russian literature, though she couldn't resist buying more.

Browsing the shelves she gathered a couple of novels, including  _Pride and Prejudice_  and  _Anna Karenina_.

Clint obediently followed her through the store, making small comments as she stopped and looked at books, he did get distracted when they made it to the sci-fi/fantasy section, "They have the fiftieth anniversary special editions of  _The_ _Lord of the Rings_  still!"

Natasha shrugged in response, she didn't know what he was talking about, nor did she care.

"You've gotta read these," Clint exclaimed, trying to shove the stack into her hands. "They're the original high fantasy novels! Tolkien practically invented the genre!"

"I'm not interested in them," Natasha said after reading the back of the first book.

Clint's jaw dropped, "But-but…"

"Sounds slow and boring."

"We'll watch the movies and then you'll wish you'd got the books!" he said.

Natasha didn't say anything, merely moved away and towards the front of the store once again.

Clint reached out and touched her arm, immediately drawing his arm back when she spun violently.

The sudden touch had caused Natasha to return to her training and get ready to fight. She didn't like when people touched her so the unexpected contact had her on the defensive.

Clint held up his hands and gave her an apologetic look, "Sorry. We should go into the children's section. I mean, this is all about exposing you to American culture… Heck, exposing you to having a life outside of work. So, children's section and we'll try to keep you up to date with the new trends."

She considered his words before nodding and allowing him to take the lead. They walked into the brightly lit and colored section. Natasha raised an eyebrow at the elaborate cartoon landscape painted around the top of the area. They wandered the stacks for a little while, Natasha finding herself focusing on the classics once again. She had added  _Peter Pan_ to her stack when Clint came back.

"Okay," he said, holding something behind his back. "You have to humor me and buy these two books. They're the first two in the most popular series in the world. They're really good. And you have to read both both without complaining."

"What are they?" she asked as she nodded. She'd humor him this once.

" _Harry Potter_."

"I've actually heard of that," she said with a smile, accepting the books. "Okay, I'm done here. We can pay and then go get that TV. I look forward to watching you carry everything."

They paid and exited the store, heading over a few blocks to the electronics store.

Clint laughed when he realized Natasha was leading him into a Best Buy, "Once again, you've shown your ability to adapt to American culture by picking one of the largest electronics chains in the country."

Natasha shrugged and led the way inside.

"Let's get you some DVDs before we go get the bigger stuff," Clint suggested hopefully.

Natasha smirked, "Sure. Just remember you have to carry everything."

That reminder helped reign Clint in, and he only convinced her to buy three movies:  _Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl_ ,  _Toy Story_ , and,  _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_. He had seen the last two, and wanted to the see the first.

Purchasing the TV took a while, simply because Natasha refused to buy the sixty-inch flat screen Clint had first suggested. They progressively worked their way down in price and size from there, settling on a small but nice flat screen for her. The DVD player took only a few minutes, mainly because Natasha decided that if she was going to buy one she would go ahead and get the Blu-Ray player, just because that seemed to be where the technology was headed.

Walking back to the apartment provided endless entertainment for Natasha. Clint held the TV box flat, his hands on the edges, with the DVD player, DVDs, and books stacked on top. He often had to stop and adjust the pile to ensure nothing fell off. His leg seemed not to bother him (though she supposed that was probably a combination of sheer determination and an act). People on the street gave them strange looks while they walked.

When they finally reached her apartment, Natasha unlocked the door and watched as Clint shouldered in, setting the pile down on her kitchen table. He then collapsed on the couch with a sigh, "Okay. I'm never offering to carry everything when we go shopping again. That was excruciating."

Natasha went to the kitchen and pulled down two glasses, filling them with water. She took one glass and a bottle of painkillers to the couch, where Clint was massaging his leg. He gave her a grateful smile and took the pills before downing the entire glass of water.

"Do you have anything to eat?" Clint asked hopefully.

Natasha shrugged, not much, "You're welcome to look. I'm going to put these books away. Then you're setting up that TV and DVD player."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter:
> 
> Clint accepted a large teddy bear, “This will make my girl happy, she gets the prize in the end.”
> 
> “Ты умрешь,” Natasha whispered at him. (You will die.)


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Karolina94, Liz, and 2sassyformyowngood for the wonderful comments on last chapter!

_Outside of Wichita, Kansas—1996_

After helping set up the first few acts in the big tent, Clint had been released from his duties and freed to wander around the circus. His eyes couldn't drink in everything he was seeing. All the bright colors, flashing lights, and the noise. The noise, most of all, kept him enthralled. Having grown up in a small town, he'd never really experienced the hustle and bustle of city-life. The loud crowds, the roar of the lions from the big tent, and the performers calling out to each other and the audience all demanded his attention. With his mouth open in wonder, Clint continued to wander.

His nose won out over his other sense and Clint found himself following a delicious scent through the circus.

"Whoa," he breathed as he looked up at the booth in front of him marked "Funnel Cakes."

He'd heard of funnel cakes of course. They were a bit of a legend among the kids in the orphanage. They were apparently the best food you could ever taste.

Clint got in line behind a family. The parents were laughing as the kids recounted the juggling show they'd just watched. He felt a stab of longing as he watched the happy family interact. He'd never experienced that, but he wanted it… Shaking his head as he stepped up to order, Clint smiled.

"Hi Mr. Pollan," he chirped. "Can I please have a funnel cake?"

"Do you have money for it?" the man asked with a frown. "If you ain't paying, I ain't giving you none."

His face crestfallen, Clint shook his head and walked away. He forced back tears and sniffed.

His good mood returned after a few moments as he found himself swept up in the crowd and carried over to where the carnival games were.

He recognized the woman running the bottle toss. Walking up shyly, he stood off to the side, waiting until the customers had walked away.

"What do you want?" the old woman demanded.

Clint smiled at her, "Hi Mrs. Gerard. Can I try playing this game?"

"One dollar," she said with a cruel smirk.

Clint scuffed his shoe in the dirt, "I don't have any money. I just wanna play once. Mr. Pollan said I couldn't have a funnel cake without money too…"

"Let me tell you something kid," the old woman said, leaning down as conspiratorially. "You gotta pay for everything in life, and that includes this carnival. So if you can't pay, stop wasting my time."

Clint walked away sniffling. He returned to the big tent, the magic of the night ruined for him.

* * *

_New York SHIELD Base—2007_

Sitting at his desk filling out paperwork was nothing new to Phil. He hadn't expected that the amount of paperwork would increase when he went from being a field agent and managing teams of agents on operations to being the handler of Clint Barton. The addition of Natasha Romanoff and thus the formation of Strike Team Delta had only increased the already large amount. Every report had to be read, analyzed, summarized, and filed. Every decision had to be justified multiple times and sent to the right departments. Every moment they weren't in the field had to be accounted for somehow.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Phil leaned back in his chair and sighed. He really hated paperwork, and with both agents on leave for recovery, that's all he had to do around the base. He didn't even get the excuse of overseeing their training in order to get away from the mountain of work.

A glance at his phone had Phil frowning. It had been ten days since Clint had been placed on medical leave and banned from training. And this was the longest Phil had gone without received a litany of complaints about how bored the agent was or how he didn't need to be banned from training because he was fine. Of course, Phil relished the silence. With Barton as his agent (and best friend) he rarely had downtime let alone time for himself. But this seemed too strange for him to ignore.

Deciding he'd done enough work for the day, Phil grabbed his phone and jacket before heading out of the office. He sped towards Clint's apartment, planning on making sure the assassin was okay. And then making sure he wasn't just sulking and binge-watching TV.

He knocked on the door to the apartment once he reached it then stepped back to wait. He had a feeling it would take a few moments for Clint to get to the door, check that it was safe, and then actually open the door.

Forty-four seconds later (he had been counting), Phil watched the door swing open and his agent greeted him with a smile. Clint ushered the man inside then called out, "You can put down whatever weapon you pulled. It's just Phil."

Phil frowned, wondering to whom Clint was talking.

That's when he saw her, sitting on the couch looking as at ease as he'd ever seen the Black Widow. The TV screen revealed they'd been watching  _Star Wars_  when he arrived, the original movie it looked like.

"Barton," Phil said quietly, noticing the way Romanoff pretended to not be eavesdropping. "Why is she here?"

Clint frowned at his handler, "We're bonding. I'm educating her about American culture."

Phil felt himself getting annoyed. His agent didn't contact him because he was busy hanging out with the woman who was probably going to murder all of them. He didn't like it. And worst of all, Clint seemed to have spent the last ten days of leave in his apartment, doing nothing but watching TV.

"So what brings you by?" Clint asked conversationally. "Would you like to join us?"

Phil shook his head, "I hadn't heard anything from you in a few days and I wanted to check in and see how you were spending your leave. Clearly, you didn't understand what I meant when I said 'go out and experience the world.'"

Clint shook his head in exasperation, "C'mon Phil, you didn't really mean that you want me to go out there and do things…with people…"

"That's exactly what I meant," Phil said firmly. "It's Halloween and the two of you are sitting around watching movies. Go do something. Visit Times Square or Coney Island for fuck's sake."

Clint grimaced at the first suggestion before turning slyly to Natasha, "Hey Romanoff, you ever been to an amusement park before?"

Natasha shook her head slowly, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Sure, she'd ended up spending about every other day over at Barton's watching movies with him. But that was where she drew the line. Humoring him in watching movies was one thing, actually going out in public with him was quite another.

"Great, let's go to Coney Island then!"

Phil felt uneasy at the lack of difficulty in convincing his agent to get out of his apartment to go do something. Usually Clint refused to do anything but sit on his couch until he was allowed to train again. It was his way of showing his disgust at being put on leave. The different approach worried Coulson.

He looked at Romanoff and scowled slightly. She seemed as unemotional as ever. Her presence in Clint's apartment did little to change Coulson's mind about her intentions. Based on how Clint was treating her, the man cared for her more than she did for him. Though it did seem he only liked her as a friend. If it was something more than friendship, he'd have tried to sleep with her already. After all, that was usually how Clint operated when it came to women.

* * *

_Coney Island, New York — 2007_

Natasha had seen plenty of Halloween decorations and advertisements since returning to New York. But she still failed to understand the appeal. Why would people pretend to be someone else just for fun? And what was up with trick-or-treating? Give the kids candy or they're going to prank you? It just seemed so pointless to her.

They took the subway out the amusement park, riding in silence beyond Clint's judgmental snorts at the different costumes he saw. Natasha couldn't blame him. Some of the people dressed up clearly didn't understand that their costumes were a) inappropriate, b) offensive, or c) unrecognizable. Natasha kept her face blank, refusing to betray her amusement at the people around them.

Clint grinned when they finally reached their stop and stood, stretching as he exited the car, Natasha following a step behind him. Once outside he turned against the wind to face her, "So what first?"

Natasha shrugged, looking around uncomfortably. She didn't like the crowds thronging around her or the ease with which a sniper could get them.

"Rides, games, food. Those are your options."

She just shrugged again.

Clint rolled his eyes, "Okay, let's start with rides because if we eat before those there's a chance of getting sick."

They wandered through the park until they arrived at a corkscrew like track from which the cars for the ride dangled. Natasha gave Clint a dubious look, she didn't know if she wanted to test her luck after constantly testing it while working as an assassin.

Clint grinned and led the way to the entrance, "The Soarin' Eagle. You're gonna love it."

Standing in line beneath and next to the roller coaster did little to ease Natasha. The roar as each car passed and rickety appearance of parts of the track served as reasons for her to avoid the ride if possible.

Clint noticed the tension in his partner as they approached the loading area. He spoke softly, "Hey, I know this looks unsafe, but I promise it's safer than most things we do on missions. And if you don't like it, we won't do any more of the coasters. We can just wander and play games, maybe ride the Ferris wheel or carousel."

Natasha took a deep breath and nodded.

They moved into the car side by side with a pair of teenagers who were laughing at something. Clint gave Natasha a comforting grin, "Remember, it's supposed to be fun. And it's totally acceptable to scream."

The forward movement of the car caused Natasha to tense up again. They moved out of the loading area and she gripped the handles tightly. They began to move up the corkscrew structure.

For one breathless moment at the top, the car hovered, slowly tipping towards the edge. Then it was dropping, running down the twists and turns of the track with no sign of stopping. Natasha couldn't help the scream that left her throat. But it wasn't a scream of terror, rather, it was a scream of exhilaration. She understood why people wanted to ride these contraptions. The adrenaline rush alone would do it for most people. But she felt like she was flying. A breathy laugh escaped and she felt herself smile, an actual smile, for the first time she could remember.

Clint turned to look at Natasha, grinning when he saw the joy on her face. He had never seen her smile before, not like this anyway. Watching her as the ride came to a stop, Clint found any doubts he'd had about bringing her in disappear. Beneath the Black Widow exterior existed a nineteen-year-old girl who could enjoy a roller coaster.

As they walked away from the ride, Natasha worked to reign her excitement in. It wouldn't do for Barton to see (although he probably had already noticed, the man was annoyingly perceptive she had come to realize).

"So," Clint said with a sly grin. "Up for another one?"

Natasha replied, trying to keep her voice emotionless as always, "Sure."

Clint's laughter told her she'd failed.

They rode a few more rides, including the oldest roller coaster at the park and another roller coaster where the car spun as it followed the track.

Feeling a bit hungry after all of the rides (and lines), the assassins headed over to the Cyclone Café. Natasha intended to eat healthy food (she tried to regulate what she ate in order to ensure she remained in perfect health). Examining the menu, she resigned herself to the fact that she probably wouldn't succeed that day.

"Loosen up, Romanoff," Clint smiled, correctly interpreting her frown. "It's okay to eat junk food. In fact, it's actually encouraged at places like these."

Natasha merely glared at him before stepping up to order some chicken wings and French fries, along with a water.

Clint stepped up next, and with a mocking grin at her, ordered a massive burger covered in cheese and bacon, an order of bacon and cheese fries, and the largest soda they served.

Natasha rolled her eyes at his largesse. They wandered away from the counter after receiving their food and found a table in the sunlight. The October sun kept the wind from chilling them.

Natasha examined her food critically while Clint dug in. She daintily picked up a chicken finger and took a small bit. Decent, but not worth the gusto with which Clint was eating his food.

"Don't tell me you've never had chicken fingers before," Clint said after swallowing a large bite.

Natasha shrugged.

He sighed in exasperation, "You've led such a deprived life. I practically lived off of this stuff for my childhood!"

"Well that explains some things," Natasha muttered.

Clint tsked, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Yes, I wanted to make sure you'd understand."

Clint laughed before picking up one of the red packets laying next to his burger, "Here put some of this in the tray and dip your chicken in it."

Natasha scrutinized the packet, labeled "Heinz Original Ketchup." With a slight shrug she decided to trust him, tore open the packet, and squeezed out the red paste. She picked up the chicken finger again and dipped it, barely getting any of the sauce on it.

The sigh from Clint drew her attention back to him as he shook his head, "No, get more on there."

She humored him before biting into it. She chewed slowly in order to prolong Clint's anticipation; he was sitting forward, watching her carefully for any sign of how she liked the new food.

After swallowing, Natasha cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment, "Not bad." She dipped the chicken again and continued to eat, relishing Clint's snort and muttering.

A few minutes later, Clint wiped his fingers on a napkin and let out a loud belch.

Natasha made a disgusted face at him and took a dainty sip of water.

Clint grinned, "So, where to next? Games? Carousel? Ferris wheel?"

She shrugged in response, not really knowing what any of those things entailed.

Frowning in concentration, Clint thought for a moment, "Ferris wheel it is. Give us some time to digest before we spin around in a circle for a while on the carousel. And then maybe we do the tea cups!"

The two wandered through the park over to the line for the Ferris wheel. They ended up being the only two in their car, sitting side by side as they slowly rose into the sky. Clint leaned back and let himself relax, becoming less hyper-aware of his surroundings, simply enjoying the distance from the crowd.

Natasha felt herself relaxing slightly as well. She hadn't even realized the tension that had crept into her body as they wandered around. There were too many people for her to be completely comfortable, and half of them seemed to be dressed up and in disguise. Somehow, getting inside of a rickety basket hanging from a metal wheel was allowing her to relax. She refused to believe it had anything to do with the man beside her.

"So," Clint said languidly. "Be honest, are you enjoying yourself?"

Natasha prepared to give him a snarky answer but looking at him out of the corner of her eye had her hesitating. He was slouched down, eyes closed, breaths even, and hands propped behind his head. He looked far more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha did something new: she told the truth. She spoke softly, "Actually I am."

Clint grinned at her and opened his eyes, "I'm glad."

The warmth in his voice surprised Natasha.

Sitting in silence, the two enjoyed the ride up to the top.

Reaching the top of the ride stole Natasha's breath. She had never seen such a view of the city. To her left, the amusement park spread out to the beach. The elated shrieks echoed up to meet her above the rhythmic whooshing of waves on the shore. The beach had various groups wandering along, although Natasha couldn't see anyone actually venturing into the water.

Clint's contented sigh drew her attention to him. He gazed out to their right at the city sprawling below. Natasha allowed a slight smile to play across her lips. She'd certainly seen more incredible sights—a Siberian winter, Yellowstone, ruined castles dotting the European countryside, to name a few. But this moment stood out to her: staring out at her new home, relaxing and have, dare she say it, fun? it stuck in her mind. She was beginning to see why Barton liked being up high. This bird's eye view thing was pretty relaxing.

They descended from the top in companionable silence. It felt different though, to Clint, than their earlier silence. Somehow, their relationship seemed to have shifted. Natasha sitting in a slightly-less-tense-than-usual position next to him gave him hope that they would become friends, hope that he could help her escape the horrors of her past.

They walked a bit away from the ride and turned to face each other. Clint offered a genuine smile, one, which he was pleased to see her return with a barely discernible twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"Another roller coaster?" he asked.

Natasha nodded once and followed him toward "The Tickler." The ride promised constant spinning of the car as they went through sharp turns and sudden drops. They were unable to converse much due to the presence of other people in the car with them.

Clint led the way over to the game booths afterwards.

Natasha chuckled as he hurried through the crowd, clearly eager to get to what he considered the main attraction.

Smirking at Natasha, Clint turned to her when he stopped in front of a booth, "We'll start easy. The point of this game is to shoot water at the target and get to the top first."

She scoffed, shooting water? That would be cake for them compared to the shooting they did on missions.

They handed the attendant their tickets and then sat down. They were the only two at the booth, so they could be as competitive as they wanted.

"Ready?" Clint asked.

Natasha only smirked in response.

The bell rang to signal the start of the race and they began. Neither had guns that functioned particularly well. They kept loosing and gaining water pressure at random, making the water shoot above or below the target. Clint growled in frustration as a sustained drop in pressure allowed Natasha to pull ahead of him. Natasha let out a breathless huff of laughter as her lead increased. She remained focused on the target, quickly adjusting for the changes in water pressure.

The bell rang a second time and Natasha grinned evilly as Clint released the handles on the pistol harshly, swearing under his breath.

The attendant walked over to Natasha and handed her a small stuffed monkey. His voice was dead as he spoke, "Congratulations on winning. Here's your prize."

Natasha gave Clint a questioning look.

"Congrats," he grunted. "You won a stuffed monkey."

"Did you want the monkey?" she offered with a mock innocent tone.

Clint opened his mouth before closing it. There was no way to win if he answered that question. Instead he turned and walked away, "Come on, let's go play a game that requires some actual skills."

Natasha followed, holding the monkey in one hand and trying not to laugh at the indignant look on her partner's face.

They approached another booth, this one labeled "RollABall" in large yellow letters on a green and blue striped background.

Clint smirked at Natasha as he took a seat, "Good luck, you'll need it."

She scoffed and sat next to him, giving the attendant the correct amount of tickets. Based on what the girl said, they needed to get their balls into the hole in order to move their sharks to the finish line. Natasha thought that compared to most of the other games she'd seen this one was particularly asinine. But Clint was determined to play it and beat her, so she obliged. They played furiously, each trying to get the ball into the holes first.

Clint quickly pulled ahead, his preternatural target skills allowing him to hit the small space perfectly each time. Natasha was more likely to hit the edge, causing the ball to bounce away if she aimed as fast as he did. The game progressed slowly as they waited for the holes to reappear. Clint's cocky smirk widened as his lead grew.

Natasha would have slouched down in defeat but she refused to give Clint the satisfaction. The arrogant smile adorning Clint's face demanded she take him down a peg or two the next time they sparred.

His smile turned charming as he spoke to the girl about a prize. Throwing one more smirk at Natasha when the attendant's back was turned, Clint accepted a large teddy bear, "This will make my girl happy, she gets the prize in the end."

"Ты умрешь," Natasha whispered at him.  _(You will die.)_

Clint swallowed but hid his immediate panic carefully. It wouldn't do for her to realized just how terrifying her threat was. Instead he just held out the teddy bear with a boyish grin.

Natasha's deliberate actions as she reached out to grab the stuffed toy promised future torments.

Clint glanced at his phone briefly before gesturing for Natasha to follow him, "Come on, two more things we have to do before we leave. It's getting late and I don't want to shock you too much with what this place turns into after dark on Halloween."

Natasha rolled her eyes but followed him. She figured she could handle pretty much anything he threw at her culturally, but she wouldn't complain about leaving early.

"This is one of the most iconic parts of Coney Island," Clint explained as they approached another food booth. "Nathan's Hotdogs."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. What she knew of hotdogs did not inure them to her.

Clint ordered confidently, "Two hotdogs and two bottles of water."

After smothering the food in ketchup and mustard, per Clint's instructions, Natasha took a bite. She shrugged, it certainly wasn't the worst thing she'd eaten but it wasn't something she would chose to eat given other choices.

"They're kind of an acquired taste," Clint explained.

Swallowing a large bit, Natasha spoke, "It's not terrible but I've had better. So this is one of the last two things we need to do, what's the other?"

"The Boardwalk. And if we're feeling particularly adventurous, we can go down to the beach and get our feet wet."

Walking along beside Clint, Natasha felt herself relaxing a bit more.

"First time I ever came to Coney Island was with Phil," Clint shared. "He thought I deserved a bit of a reward after finishing training. I'd never really gotten to ride rides before despite growing up in a circus. We were always working, never having the time or money to actually participate. I had trouble reigning myself in."

Natasha snorted, "In other words you failed spectacularly."

Clint grinned in response, "Exactly. I made myself sick with how much stuff I ate and how many rides I went on. Then there were the games…It was nearly impossible to tear myself away from them because I kept winning. God, Phil and I each had an armful of stuff by the time we were done."

The fondness of the memories he recounted showed plainly on his face and caused Natasha to smile slightly. She'd never seen him look so young, and he wasn't exactly old. They'd both been through a lot and the fond memories revealed their youth.

Shaking his head, Clint grinned slyly at Natasha, "I'll race you into the water."

Before Natasha could respond Clint had taken off running towards the waves.

She paused for a moment before taking off after him.

His ungraceful hopping as he took off his shoes allowed her to catch him. She was far more skilled in removing her shoes while still making progress towards the waves. However, Clint pulled ahead in the end and crashed into the water a few seconds before her.

Natasha let out a shriek as the cold water hit her feet and soaked her caves.

Clint laughed, "I win. And I even got you to scream."

"Merely a reaction to the water, nothing to do with you," Natasha retorted, trying to catch her breath. "I don't like cold."

"Good to know."

The two turned to look out over the waves at the multi-colored sky as the sun began to set.

Clint couldn't help but turn to watch his partner. She looked so serene and beautiful, standing in the chilly water, eyes focused on the sky, hair flying back from her face. He burned the memory into his mind, wanting to remind himself that despite the challenges of getting through her walls, it was worth it.

* * *

_Natasha's Apartment, New York—2007_

The next few weeks of leave passed quietly. Sanders cleared Clint to begin some light training (still nothing too strenuous) and the archer was able to work off some of his pent-up energy. He and Natasha continued to watch movies together and, when pestered by Phil, occasionally go out into the city. Natasha enjoyed the days when he'd drag her to touristy spots like the Empire State Building or Times Square, not that she'd ever admit that. After watching  _Lion King_  the movie, they went to see the Broadway performance. Clint refused to acknowledge how much he enjoyed that one, but Natasha kept catching him singing songs from it for the next two weeks, and of course he couldn't resist constantly quoting everything they'd watched.

Thanksgiving arrived with a slow energy bursting into a last-minute burst of panic for most of the city as they remembered everything they had to do before relatives arrived and the holiday shopping season began. Natasha elected to mostly ignore the holiday, beyond one Google search to make sure she remembered its history and significance correctly. She saw no reason to celebrate as a non-American, and Clint hadn't really referenced it beyond mentioning its imminent arrival.

Natasha sat on her couch with a cup of tea, dressed comfortably in yoga pants and a long-sleeved soft shirt watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (she hadn't been able to find anything else on).

She froze, tea halfway to her mouth, when she heard a knock at the door.

Clint usually texted before he showed up after the less-than-pleasant first time. She'd received nothing from him to warn of his coming.

She set the tea down silently and pulled out the gun she kept stashed in the couch. She crept towards the door and peered through the peephole. Clint stood outside, holding up a bouquet of autumn flowers and wearing a sheepish smile. A large box sat beside him.

Natasha rolled her eyes and yanked the door open, "What?"

His grin widened as he held out the flowers, "For you."

"Why?"

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too."

"What's in the box?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked as he shoved the flowers into her hands and picked up the box.

"No," Natasha made to close the door.

"Too bad, I'm coming in anyway."

Clint barged into the apartment and headed to the kitchen.

Natasha took a deep breath, restraining her temper.

"I knew you weren't going to take the initiative to do anything for Thanksgiving, so I decided that we're going to celebrate. Phil's coming too," Clint said as he opened the box to reveal a turkey, some cans of food, a sack of potatoes, and a bottle of wine.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow at his last statement, "Coulson's coming? Why?"

Clint shrugged, "Well, he doesn't know he's coming yet. But I'm going to convince him, just like I've convinced you."

"You barged into my house without my permission. And I still haven't agreed to this."

Clint smirked, "Ah, but you haven't killed me yet, so clearly you don't mind too much."

Natasha frowned, "I've just learned that you're going to do what you want to do whether I agree or not, so there's no point in me wasting my energy."

"I knew you'd see reason," he said easily. "Now where do you keep your broiling pan?"

Natasha turned and walked out of the kitchen without responding. Just because he insisted on barging into her life and cooking them a Thanksgiving dinner doesn't mean she would help him.

She sat back down in front of the TV and continued to watch the parade.

A loud crash from the kitchen drew her attention away from the spectacle a few minutes later. The ensuing cursing did little to lessen her worry. Instead, she found herself picking up the tea and drifting towards the kitchen. Inside, she found Clint standing over a raw turkey in a large broiling pan with a severe frown on his face.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and took a seat at the bar, sipping at her tea, "Need help?"

Clint turned to face her, "Yes. But I know better than to ask you."

She gave him an innocent smile in return.

His frown intensified, unsure if the smile meant a sincere offer or she was just screwing with him. Based on the malicious glint in her eyes, she was messing with him. He huffed and turned away, mumbling, "Just gotta pull the insides out and then put some bread in."

Natasha's eyes widened at his words, they did little to make the bird seem more appealing.

"Hey, Romanoff," Clint said. "Where's your trashcan?"

She hesitated.

"Tell me or I dump it on the counter."

"Under the sink."

Clint pulled the trashcan out, "Now was that so hard."

He took a deep breath and stuck his hand into the turkey, pulling out a bag of giblets. He then began rinsing out the inside of the bird.

Natasha fought down the urge to gag, she definitely didn't want to think about the innards of her food.

Clint checked the temperature on the oven and nodded. He moved back to the box of stuff he'd brought and pulled out some butter and a brush. He coated the turkey then glanced over at the oven. With a satisfied nod, he opened up a ziploc bag of stuffing from his box and began shoving it into the turkey.

"That looks disgusting," Natasha commented, trying to get a rise out of him.

"Ah," Clint said, "But it will taste delicious!"

The redhead remained dubious but watched him with interest as he put the turkey in the oven and moved to pull out a large bowl with a towel on it from the box.

"Just how much do you have in there?" Natasha asked.

"Everything we need to make one thanksgiving dinner," he replied. "Think of it as Mary Poppins' carpet bag!"

Natasha rolled her eyes in response and stood to leave.

"Ah-ah," Clint said. "You asked questions, you're curious. That means I'm going to make you help me with the mashed potatoes after I check on the dough."

He pulled the towel off of the bowl to reveal a rising mass of bread dough. Clint looked over at her, "Flour?"

She pointed to the pantry without a word.

"Excellent," Clint said.

He threw some flour on her counter, drawing a slight gasp from Natasha.

"Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

"Of course you will. I'm not giving you a choice," she threatened.

He kneaded the dough for a few minutes before returning it to the bowl, "We'll let that rise a while we get started on the potatoes. I'll need your largest pot."

Natasha debated just leaving him in her kitchen at that point, but her curiosity won over. She'd never had an American Thanksgiving and a part of her wanted to experience it. Setting her tea down on the bar, she moved into the kitchen and opened up a cabinet, revealing an assortment of pots and pans, including a large one which she had yet to find a use for.

"Good," Clint said. "Fill that with some water and a bit of salt."

Natasha obliged before setting the pot on the stove, per Clint's gesture.

He pulled out the sack of potatoes and set them on the counter, "Have you ever peeled a potato before?"

"No," Natasha said.

"Okay, here's how we're going to do this. To start with, you rinse the potatoes and I'll peel them, then you quarter them and put them in the pot. Watch how I peel them and then we can switch up," Clint instructed, grabbing a knife from her knife block.

She watched attentively as he peeled a potato after rinsing it off. Then he handed it to her for quartering.

A few minutes passed as he peeled while she rinsed and quartered. They switched places eventually, making quick work of the potatoes. Clint then set them in the pan before turning to face Natasha, "Okay, let me just check on the turkey and then we don't have to do anything while the potatoes soak. Hey, maybe we can go watch some of the parade!"

Natasha shrugged and picked up her tea, frowning at its lukewarm temperature. She moved to the microwave and heated it up for a few seconds.

After Clint finished buttering the turkey again, they wandered into her living room and sat to watch the parade. Clint went back into the kitchen at regular intervals to check on the turkey and turn off the potatoes.

When the parade ended, he stood and looked expectantly at Natasha, "Come on. Time to do rolls."

She remained seated for a moment before standing up, making sure he knew she wasn't helping because he told her to, rather because she it was her decision.

Clint pulled the bread dough out again and once again kneaded it with some flour on the counter.

He gestured for Natasha to come closer, "Get a light coating of flour on your hands and then come knead the rest of the flour in for me. I'm going to get the pans ready for the rolls."

Natasha obeyed, pushing her hands into the dough as she'd watched Clint do. She had never touched raw bread dough before and it made her squint a bit at the texture. She had the sudden urge to taste the bread, but she pushed it aside.

Clint returned to her side a few minutes later, "Okay. Now we're going to roll the dough into balls. I'll cut off sections and then we'll roll them. Try to get them as smooth and round as possible, but don't worry if it isn't perfect."

Natasha began rolling the dough as instructed, working to make it as smooth as possible. She realized that no matter what she did, she couldn't get it perfectly smooth. So she imitated Clint and pushed the imperfect edges under the ball, making them the side she set down.

Clint checked on the turkey as she was finishing up the rolls. He pulled out a translucent plastic tube with a rubber bulb at one end.

"What is that?" Natasha asked, slightly disgusted. It looked like a potentially horrific torture instrument.

"Turkey baster," he said cheerily. "It sucks up the turkey juices in the bottom of the pan and then I squeeze the bulb to coat the turkey in them again. It helps keep the flavor in. Then we'll use the juices to make gravy for the potatoes!"

Natasha frowned. She thought that sounded like a horrifying method of cooking. In her mind, you didn't use what came out of the meat for things. It came out for a reason after all. This seemed like another stereotypical American concoction involving obscene amounts of grease and fat.

"Just trust me. It'll taste great, and it's not that bad for you," Clint said, reading the expression on her face.

Natasha shrugged, she didn't really care that much. She tried to eat healthy when she could purely because she knew that her body needed to be in top shape in order to survive everything she put it through. But years of not knowing when the next meal would come or what it would be left her willing to try anything. At least it smelled good, she acknowledged silently. Not that she'd ever admit it to Clint but she was getting excited for this meal.

"Now, we've got about an hour left, so in twenty minutes we'll start assembling the green bean casserole and boiling the potatoes. I'm going to text Phil, he should be about to leave to head to my place," Clint stated, pulling out his phone.

"Change of plans," he said stiltedly as he typed out the words. "There's been an accident. Come to Romanoff's. Don't forget the pies."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "You really think that'll convince him?"

"Sure it will. Phil's very trusting of me. And even if he suspects something, the handler side of him will require that he checks on us just to be safe. He may not be your biggest fan but you're his agent so he'll take care of you."

Natasha returned to the living room and picked up her own phone. She smirked when she saw a text from Phil Coulson: "He decided that you're apartment is hosting Thanksgiving dinner, right?"

Her reply was simple: "Yes."

A few second passed before the phone buzzed again, "I guess I don't really have a choice. I'm on my way."

Clint walked into the room and saw the arrogant smirk on Natasha's face. He froze before speaking, "What?"

"Nothing," Natasha said, schooling her face back into innocence. She turned back to the TV, feigning interest in the National Dog Show.

Clint scowled and sat down next to Natasha. He wanted to know what had prompted her to look so devilish, but he was also afraid to find out. Instead, he studied her as her expression went from fake interest to actual interest and then confusion about the dog show. Though he loved America and dogs and TV, even Clint found the spectacle a bit—over the top.

"What's the point of this?" Natasha asked after a few minutes.

Clint shrugged, "God knows. People like watching pretentious people and their pretentious dogs parade around pretentiously."

"I take it you think it's a bit pretentious then?" Natasha deadpanned.

Clint had to look at her to see if she was genuinely asking or just being snarky. Snarky, he decided when he noticed the glint in her otherwise cold green eyes.

He shook his head and stood up, "Time to check the turkey again. Wonder where Phil is, I thought he'd be here by now."

Natasha shrugged and turned her attention back to the show. She hadn't told him that Coulson knew what was going on and might not show up. She probably wouldn't show up if she knew Clint was trying to trick her. On the other hand, her relationship with Clint differed from his and Phil's. She was still trying to one up him all the time, they were still testing each other. Phil and Clint acted like brothers more often than not.

A sharp knock on the door drew Clint out of the kitchen and had Natasha reaching for her gun.

She stood by the couch, using it to hide her hands. Her entire body filled with adrenaline and tensed up.

Clint sent her a kind smile after he checked through the peephole, "It's Phil."

Natasha took a deep breath and forced some of the tension out of her pose. She wondered if she would ever be able to remain relaxed when someone knocked at the door. Clint seemed to do a good job of staying calm.

Phil walked into the apartment, holding a bag with two pies in it. He raised an eyebrow at Clint, "So, what's the accident?"

"Well," Clint said with a dramatic gesture at Natasha. "I got up this morning to start cooking and saw a text from Romanoff telling me that she'd sprained her back and couldn't move around very well. So, I of course rushed over to help my injured partner, but I didn't want to bail on our Thanksgiving plans, so I just packed everything up and brought it over here."

Phil looked at an amused Natasha, who was standing without a problem, "Sprained back? That's what you're going with?"

Clint shifted his weight between his feet and glanced at Natasha, "Yep."

Phil rolled his eyes and handed Clint the pies, "You're an idiot."

"That's what I tell him all the time," Natasha said with an evil smirk at Clint.

Clint huffed and took the pies into the kitchen.

Natasha stood awkwardly with Phil for a moment before she forced herself to give him a slight smile. She would play the good hostess even though she wanted to just turn away and ignore everything again, "Would you like something to drink?"

Phil hesitated before nodding, "Just water please."

Natasha led the way into the kitchen. She pulled out a glass and filled it with water and ice from the fridge, making sure to keep her hands visible for Phil at all times. She knew he didn't particularly trust her, and if she didn't trust someone she would hesitate to accept anything from them, even something as simple as a glass of water.

"Romanoff," Clint called, drawing her across the kitchen after handing off the water. "It's time for you to make the green bean casserole."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. Did he realize that she didn't want to help and didn't know how to make this casserole (which sounded absolutely disgusting)?

"Please?" he said before throwing a meaningful glance at Phil.

Natasha glared and rolled her eyes before nodding in acquiescence.

"Okay, here's what you do. Drain the green beans, then dump them in this dish. Add the cream of mushroom soup and a splash of milk. Then some salt and pepper. Stir it all together before you add some of the fried onions and then mix again," Clint instructed.

Opening the green beans and draining them proved a simple enough task. Adding the cream of mushroom soup nearly made Natasha vomit. The gelatinous substance looked particularly unappealing. The little bit of milk helped make it a bit more soup like and after stirring everything together Natasha could see the potential in the casserole. She still didn't think it looked great, but at least it was no longer a cringe-worthy pile of limp green beans and gray, jello-like "soup" sitting in a dish. Now it looked semi-edible.

Meanwhile, Clint had gotten Phil working on the potatoes while he pulled the rolls out of the oven and coated them in butter.

"Use enough butter in everything?" Natasha asked sounding horrified.

Clint smirked, "American holiday. Copious amounts of butter required."

Natasha rolled her eyes and turned away.

"Okay, Romanoff," Clint instructed. "Throw that in the oven for fifteen minutes, then pull it out, add more onions, stir again. Then add a layer on top. Fifteen more minutes, and it should be done."

Clint grabbed some tin foil and covered the pans of rolls to keep the heat in while Natasha set the turkey in the oven. Phil worked on mashing the potatoes, occasionally swearing under his breath as chunks continued to elude him. When Natasha pulled the green bean casserole out to stir it, Clint took the turkey out and set it on the counter.

Natasha watched him set the hot pan on her counter and thanked whatever had guided her into selecting the apartment with the granite countertops over the one with the Jacuzzi bathtub. If Barton was going to keep barging in to her apartment, the less destructible the materials the better it seemed.

Phil finished up the potatoes as Clint started carving the turkey, the electric knife's buzzing slowly driving Natasha closer to murdering her coworkers.

"Hey, Romanoff," Clint said over the noise. "Grab the cans of cranberry sauce out of the fridge and get them open please. Phil, get a plate and a knife for the cranberry sauce."

Opening the cans proved to be quite a struggle for Natasha as the can opener continued to slip off the lip of the can, making it impossible to open it smoothly. Prying the lid off nearly resulted in slicing her fingers thanks to the sharp edges where the can opener had stopped and started around the edge. Muttering Russian curses under her breath, Natasha threw the lids away then turned back and saw Phil had taken over preparing the cranberries. She would have been annoyed by him taking over her job if she wasn't relieved that she wouldn't have to demonstrate her lack of knowledge again.

"Okay," Clint said with a triumphant grin. "Let's get everything onto the table and then we can eat."

Natasha set the table while Phil and Clint carried everything over and poured the wine.

Once everyone sat down, Natasha had to admit that the food actually looked pretty good, now that it was all set out in front of her. And it smelled good too.

Phil started reaching for the mashed potatoes but Clint smacked his hand away. Phil and Natasha both looked at him startled.

"We have to say what we're thankful first," Clint scolded.

"Why?" Natasha asked.

Clint rolled his eyes, "Because it's  _Thanks_ giving. It's what the holiday is about!"

"I thought it was about some pilgrims who got food from the Native Americans before slaughtering them," Natasha deadpanned.

Clint's eyes widened in horror. He replied with vehemence, "That's not it at all! It's to celebrate the first Thanksgiving when the Native Americans and pilgrims sat down together in peace and were thankful for the harvest."

"And then the pilgrims slaughtered everyone," Natasha replied, eyes flashing with mirth.

Clint started to reply before he realized she was messing with him, he shook his head and looked at Phil, "Who wants to start? You have to say something you're thankful for from this last year. And it can't be something stupid like getting to clean a gun."

Natasha sighed, he had just ruled out what she was going to say: having nice equipment to take care of.

Phil sighed after a few minutes of silence, "I'll start then. I'm thankful for getting some downtime this year after the stressfulness of the last one."

Clint nodded in acceptance and looked at Natasha. She shook her head, no way was she going next.

"Okay, my turn then," Clint said. He looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling, "I'm thankful for having two great friends to watch my back."

Phil returned the smile warmly while Natasha felt a sinking feeling in her gut. She didn't want to admit what she was really thankful for…

Both men watched her expectantly.

Natasha took a deep breath, "I'm thankful for second chances."

Clint beamed while Phil frowned slightly, trying to figure out the ulterior motive behind her words.

"Can we eat now?" Natasha asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Clint nodded, "Dig in."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you feel like :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Arrest him?" Clint asked, flabbergasted. "You're sending us in to dig up some dirt on a guy just so you can arrest him? We don't even get to kill him?:
> 
> "No. You are to get in an out undetected," Phil continued.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you luckrogue7 for leaving a comment on Chapter Twelve.

 

_Red Room, Unknown Location—2002_

"Good morning, Natalia," Ivan said as he entered her room.

"Good morning, Ivan," she replied with a stony face. She moved from lying on her bed to standing at attention.

The man circled around the girl, examining her with a critical eye. He finally spoke, "You've grown up well. You are no longer a little girl."

Natasha nodded in acknowledgement, she had no need to comment on his statement. She'd seen the way men had begun looking at her, no longer like a girl, more like she was a woman.

"Today you will begin learning how to use your woman's figure to your advantage," Ivan continued. His tone turned to disappointment, "I had hoped we could continue to use your innocence for a while longer, it's easier to lure targets in. As it is, you need to become a sophisticated woman who can accomplish the same thing." Ivan clapped his hands together and smiled charmingly at Natasha. "So my dear, today you begin working with Madame Kristovna. She will turn you into a woman. Come."

Natasha hurriedly followed him out of the room and through a few halls. She soon found herself near the rooms where she'd learned to disguise herself. The rooms were filled with props, wigs, costumes, and makeup. She'd never been in a couple of the rooms on this hall, the girls she'd trained with had been told if they ever proved themselves competent with the basic disguises they might get to move on.

Ivan led her into one of the other rooms and nodded at the woman inside, "Madame, this is Natalia. Natalia, Madame Kristovna. I expect you will learn much from her. Make me proud."

Natasha nodded, not missing the underlying threat that if she did not earn a good report from Kristovna she would be punished.

"Hmmm," Kristovna sniffed. "You're a bit thin, but I can see you have promise."

She poked and prodded at Natasha as she continued to make comments, "Decent hips, they'll keep widening as you get farther into puberty. You're breasts are quite large for your age, that will help you. Pouty lips. Green eyes and red hair. Yes, I can work with this."

Natasha remained still and waited for the woman to instruct her to move.

A few moments of silence passed as Kristovna stroked her chin and continued to stare at Natasha. She snapped into a blur of motion as she began working, "We will begin with makeup, learning how to highlight your natural features and make yourself noticeable. Then hair. You must be able to control that tangled mess. Everyday you'll practice walking in high heels for a few hours. You must be able to fight and dance and seduce in them without stumbling. You're dance lessons will increase, and of course, you will learn how to dress the part."

Natasha nodded once.

"You have already begun learning how please targets, yes?" the woman asked slyly.

"Yes," Natasha said, keeping her voice even.

"Good, let's begin."

* * *

_SHIELD Briefing Room, New York Base—2007_

Natasha sat perfectly still in the briefing room, refusing to participate in the juvenile game her partner had decided to play. On one end of the table, sat nine water bottles arranged in a triangle. At the other end, stood the one and only Clint Barton with a tennis ball in his hand. He closed one eye and bent down to get level with the table. Squinting down the table with a focused frown, he straightened and pulled his hand with the ball back. He snapped it forward and watched as the ball went rolling down the table, hitting the water bottles and sending them flying off the table.

"Strike!" Clint cheered as he bounced up and down.

Natasha rolled her eyes and returned to studying the activity outside the window. The agents in the control room were in a constant state of movement as they attempted to control whatever crisis had arisen. Natasha wondered what could have come up that required so much movement. Perhaps they were about to find out. Now that Clint had been cleared by medical, they were going to be put back onto missions. Maybe SHIELD would actually trust them to accomplish something more than a basic assignment on a minimal threat. But Natasha didn't have high hopes for that, she was still an unknown quantity to them and would remain so for a while.

"Come on, Romanoff," Clint said as he reset the bottles he was using as pins for his bowling. "I'll let you have a go."

Natasha refused to acknowledge him. Just because they'd been bonding for a while during their hiatus from missions did not mean she would interact with him outside of their jobs while at SHIELD. She had to at least maintain her reputation as a heartless bitch.

Clint bowled again, knocking over most of the bottles this time, but not all. He cursed under his breath and moved back to the start after retrieving the ball. This time, he rolled it right across the file in front of Natasha, earning a glare in response to his snicker.

"Please?" Clint whined, offering the ball to her.

"No. I refuse to participate in your juvenile actions," Natasha replied with her eyes focused on the file in front of her. It was her own medical file. Sanders had given it to her after finishing all of his tests. While he didn't know what exactly the Red Room had done to her, he had some interesting theories. Interesting and often disturbing to think about. She didn't like wondering if the Red Room had really done so many terrible things to her… Overall, the file made for some heavy reading.

"What are you reading anyway?" Clint asked curiously, moving to stand behind her.

"It's private!" Natasha snapped, closing it quickly.

"Oh," Clint sounded subdued. "I don't want to pry but that's your medical file."

"Very astute of you."

It was Clint's turn to roll his eyes, "Listen, if you ever want to talk… Well, I'm here."

Natasha didn't want to admit that she was actually touched by his words. Instead, she nodded once in acceptance and returned to studying the control room.

Coulson marched through the chaos, ignoring the agents around him that seemed in need of some guidance. He entered the briefing room just as Clint's fourth throw at the water bottles knocked them over.

Coulson raised an eyebrow and moved around the few bottles on the floor before taking a seat at the head of the table.

Clint took a seat across from Natasha, looking properly chastised, though he hadn't picked up the bottles at all.

"These files contain your new covers," Phil said as he slid two folders at Clint and Natasha. "You're heading undercover on an info retrieval mission in Highlands Ranch, Colorado."

Clint groaned, "Seriously? Info retrieval? Do they realize that this is far below our caliber?"

"Yes. But you just got cleared by medical so we're sending you on an easy mission, just to get back in the game."

Natasha scoffed, "Please, we all know that it's because no one trusts me yet. They don't want to put me on anything too difficult or delicate. So they use Barton's injury as an excuse."

Phil opened his mouth to rebut her accusation but closed his mouth when he saw the steel in her eyes. He inclined his head, "You're job is to get close to Abe and Lyla Foret. Lyla is a stay at home mom, but she does more shopping than mothering. They have a nanny to look after the two kids, ages four and five. Abe works for Lockheed Martin, building satellite equipment. We believe he's using his position to pass of technological secrets to international terrorists. We need you to find proof of his wrong-doing so that we can arrest him."

"Arrest him?" Clint asked, flabbergasted. "You're sending us in to dig up some dirt on a guy just so you can arrest him? We don't even get to kill him?"

"No. You are to get in an out undetected," Phil continued. "The Forets live in a gated community known as the High Woods. It's a small area where most of the people know their neighbors. Very wealthy. They're having a neighborhood holiday party at the Forets in two weeks. You need to be at that party and then you have to access Abe's computer."

"Sounds easy enough," Natasha said as she opened the folder and perused the information on the Foret's and their close friends. "What's our cover?"

Phil hesitated before answering, "You will be posing as a newly married couple, just moving to Colorado."

Both agents looked up at him, surprise and disgust written on their faces.

Phil shrugged as he continued, "Clint will be starting a new job at Lockheed with Abe. You'll be in the business side of things though, working to market projects."

"Probably for the best," Clint said with a grimace. "I know next to nothing about engineering, but I can bullshit marketing."

"And Romanoff will be posing as a housewife, looking forward to starting a family with her husband," Phil finished.

Natasha snorted, "Great. So I get to be the simpering fool, spending time with the other house wives of the area?"

Phil nodded gravely. He'd known she wouldn't be happy with her role in all of this, "We need you to get close to Lyla in case she proves to be the way to get to her husband."

She nodded once at the explanation and returned to studying her file. Apparently she, Emily, and Clint, John, had married two months earlier. They'd moved to Colorado for John's job. She had gone to school for interior design but never used her degree after meeting John. She wanted to start a family right away and felt that Highlands Ranch provided the right atmosphere for it.

"Will you be with us?" Clint asked Phil.

"No, I'll be monitoring from the Colorado SHIELD Base in Denver. We'll remain in contact but while we're there Fury wants me to be overseeing a reorganization of that base."

"You're reorganizing and entire base in two weeks?" Clint smirked.

"It shouldn't be too difficult, they've already begun implementing the changes. Now it's up to me to make sure things start running smoothly," Phil explained. "Now, we'll leave tomorrow morning at 1000 hours. The agents posing as movers will have finished getting things prepared for you when the flight lands and then you'll head to the house. SHIELD will have secured the house but…know that while this mission does not seem to pose any threat to the agents investigating you should remain alert. With international terrorists involved, it's best to stay on top of things."

"Do the Forets have any military ties or experience?" Natasha said with a shrewd look in her eyes.

"No," Phil admitted.

"Do any of their associates?" she said again.

"No."

"You're telling us to remain vigilant against a bunch of upper-middle class snobs who pose next to no threat?" she asked in disbelief.

Phil rolled his eyes, "It's just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Both of you need this mission to go flawlessly. Don't test it by letting your guard down. And I'd prefer if neither of you ended up in medical anytime soon."

"Well to me," Clint interrupted. "This sounds like an incredibly boring and pointless mission. SHIELD is wasting us. But we'll take care of it and we'll do it flawlessly."

"I expected nothing less," Phil agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow morning in the hanger. Make sure to learn these files tonight."

"It's like we're junior agents," Clint muttered after Phil left, his annoyance showing clearly on his face. "Sending us on a basic mission like this, reminding us to keep our guard up, and then telling us we need to memorize our briefs…"

Natasha nodded and followed him out of the conference room, "They still don't trust us. Me because I'm still unknown and you because you brought me in by disobeying orders."

"It's been nine months," Clint snarled. "They should trust us with more than this."

"So let's show them that this is a joke," Natasha replied with a smirk. "Let's do it flawlessly and in the time limit. And let's make it look like the easiest thing in the world. Show them that we can be trusted and that we are capable of working as partners. That means no broken protocols or screw ups."

Clint nodded once and typed in the code to access their rooms, "Let's get started."

* * *

_Highlands Ranch, Colorado—2007_

Arriving in Denver, Colorado proved an interesting experience for Clint. The airport was chillier than expected with the open air flowing under the tent-like room. There were birds flying around for crying out loud. The cold wind bit through his clothes making him shiver, in a way the wind in Wyoming had never accomplished.

Clint and Natasha met two SHIELD agents outside of the airport, wordlessly accepting the silver Lexus they'd been provided with. The drive from the airport to their new home took about an hour. They spent the time getting into character. They knew that once they arrived at the house they would have to become Emily and John, they couldn't slip up without fear of arousing the Forets' suspicions.

The grey clouds above combined with the brown, dormant grass alongside the road created a dreary landscape and a heavy blanket of boredom fell over them.

Natasha yawned and sank further into the seat.

"This is going to be so boring, isn't it?" Clint asked.

Natasha nodded as she stifled another yaw, "Undoubtedly."

A few minutes later, Clint let out a low whistle as they viewed the massive houses in front of them. Pulling up to the elaborate black gate, he rolled down the window and keyed in the code they'd had in their file. They followed the directions and pulled into the driveway of one of the houses. A large moving truck stood outside of the house, mostly empty other than a few boxes. Three, well-muscled men walked out of the house and grabbed the rest of the boxes as Clint and Natasha stepped out of the car. A second car already sat in the garage, a larger Lexus in dark green.

A fourth man exited the house and walked up to greet them. He stuck out a hand and shook theirs as he said, "Good to meet you Mr. And Mrs. Campbell. We've got pretty much everything moved in and unpacked. We're just finishing up now and then we'll get out of your way."

Clint and Natasha nodded, fake smiles plastered to their faces as they thanked the men for their work.

Wandering into their new living space made both of them cringe internally. The ornate foyer and spiral staircase were enough to make anyone feel a bit overwhelmed. But the massive works of art adorning the main rooms on the first floor, the antique furniture filling the floor, and the plush carpets were far more opulent. A large chandelier hung over a massive mahogany dining table, complete with high-backed mahogany chairs to match.

Moving through the upstairs, Natasha counted five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and an office. The master bedroom (where she and Clint would both have to stay) proved to be more of a suite than a single room. An entry room had more antiques and a few sculptures while the actual bedroom boasted a king-sized bed, two dressers, and a large mirror. The closet could have housed most of Natasha's belongings with ease. She did smile a bit wider as she took in the Jacuzzi tub in the adjoining bathroom, already planning to make the most of it while there.

After the agents left, Clint and Natasha began sweeping their house for bugs. They knew that SHIELD would have the place under surveillance, and while neither of them really minded, it put them both at ease to at least know where the devices were hidden. After locating a few bugs in each room, they reconvened in the kitchen.

"We've got a few hours to get settled in today," Clint said as he examined the information in their briefings. "I start my job tomorrow and you'll stay here. Based on intelligence, the women tend to welcome new residents the day after they move in. I'll meet Abe and you'll get in touch with Lyla."

Natasha nodded, "We can stay in touch via text, especially since these women seem addicted to their technology."

She held up a few pictures from the file, showing Lyla and her main circle of friends, all clinging to their handbags and phones.

"So what should we do for dinner?" Clint asked as he opened the empty fridge.

"Grocery shopping?" Natasha asked with a shrug.

He nodded and grabbed his jacket off of the chair, "Although, I'm not sure Emily and John do their own shopping. Don't they have a maid or someone for that?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and grabbed the keys from the counter, "I'm driving."

Clint groaned as he followed her out the door and into the car, "Please don't get us killed…"

While tempted to speed out of the driveway and down the street, Natasha forced herself to stay in character as Emily and calmly maneuvered the car out of the garage and the neighborhood.

Sitting at a stop sign, waiting to turn onto a main street, Natasha turned to Clint, "Left or right?"

He shrugged, "No idea. You said we should go grocery shopping so I assumed you knew where to go."

Natasha sighed and debated for a moment before taking a left out of the neighborhood, "I remember passing a shopping area this way. Hopefully they have somewhere we can stop."

"If we starve I'm blaming you," Clint pouted.

"My god it's like having a child," Natasha drawled

She turned the car into the parking lot of a grocery store a few minutes later. As she pulled into a parking spot, Natasha turned to Clint, "Okay Barton, I need you to act like a mature adult while we're in there. John Campbell is not the sort of man to get sidetracked by every little thing he sees."

Clint sighed, "Relax, Romanoff. I'll play my part. Anyway, we're only shopping for the essentials today, right? Some things to get us through the next few days and maybe a few things in case we end up entertaining."

Natasha nodded as she stepped out of the car, Clint falling in a step behind her as they made their way into the store.

They unzipped their coats and grabbed a cart from the rows before beginning to navigate their way through the shop.

Clint played the part of the dutiful husband as he followed Natasha through the produce section as she picked out some apples, lettuce, and bananas for them. They added bread and cheese, some milk and juice, a few cans of soup, pasta, rice, and some chicken and steak.

Heading up to the front to pay, they found themselves passing through the candy aisle. Clint pulled up short, making Natasha stop with a glare. He smirked before throwing in a box of microwave popcorn and a bag of gummy bears. His nonchalant shrug made it seem like he didn't think it was a big deal. But the gleam in his eyes dared Natasha to call him on it and fight him over it.

Instead she pursed her lips and they continued on their way to the check out. They paid quickly, making small talk with the older man working the register before hurrying to their car.

Natasha took the cart back while Clint finished putting everything in the trunk.

When she slid into the driver's seat, Clint realized he was in trouble.

"Relax," Clint said hoping to placate her ire. "It was just some popcorn and candy."

Natasha backed out of the parking spot and turned out of the parking lot.

Finally she spoke in an even voice, "We both know that was about more than just wanting some popcorn and candy. We'd said only the essentials and next thing I know, you're buying junk just to spite me."

Clint started to respond but stopped when he saw the steel in her eyes.

"Maybe some of our new neighbors saw us in there. Are Emily and John really the kind of people to just randomly buy junk food? Did that just make things ten times harder for us?"

Clint sighed in exasperation, "We both know that no one cares if we get some popcorn and gummy bears. Seriously, no one knows who we are. And while Emily may not like junk food, John does. We are these people so we get to decide how they behave."

"My point is that we can't screw up this mission," Natasha blurted. "SHIELD will just keep giving you shit missions if this gets screwed up. I might find myself imprisoned or dead."

Clint frowned, "You really think I wouldn't end up going down with you?"

Natasha shrugged, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"Maybe I haven't made this clear enough but we are partners. At first by force and now more by choice. Whatever happens to one of us, happens to the other. From SHIELD's perspective, I'm responsible for you. And they won't show me any mercy should you turn out a traitor," Clint snapped.

Natasha remained silent as he took a breath.

"For the record, I don't believe you're going to betray us all. I trust you. But eventually trust needs to go both ways. This job is tough and some days suck far more than others. I'm sorry I grabbed the stuff just to piss you off, but you've got to relax a bit and  _trust me_  not to get us killed. I've survived this long on my own, I think we can go a few more years as a partnership before we end up dying."

Natasha's demeanor softened slightly, though she stayed silent until they were deciding where to put each of their new groceries.

* * *

_Lockheed Martin, Highlands Ranch, Colorado—2007_

Clint left the house early the next morning. They'd had to share a bed, yet again, in order to avoid arousing any suspicions from neighbors who doubted their "happy couple" cover story.

Natasha had drilled him once more on their covers and plan for the day before letting him leave. He would have been insulted if he hadn't have realized how stressed she was about this mission. Their last two missions—while technically considered successes—had not been perfect. SHIELD had agreed to take in Natasha, in part, because she promised perfection.

Even Fury seemed to think they needed something easy, just to get their act together. He'd purposefully kept whatever had drawn the control room employees' panic away from Clint and Natasha. This mission would make or break both their partnership and their respective careers with SHIELD. Thus, Clint resolved to take things seriously. At least, as seriously as he ever could.

He walked into Lockheed Martin, plastering on the eager and cheery smile of John Campbell.

Inside the marketing department's offices, he followed the receptionist's directions for finding George Lloyd, head of the department.

Clint knocked on the open door to Lloyd's office with his knuckles. He sent the large, balding man an apologetic smile for interrupting him. Sticking out his hand, Clint stepped towards the other man and introduced himself, "Hi. I'm John Campbell. You'd said you wanted to meet with me this morning…"

Lloyd stood and shook Clint's hand with an unimpressed look on his face. He gestured for Clint to take a seat, saying, "Close the door."

Clint obeyed before sliding into the seat across from Lloyd. He noticed that he now sat a few inches lower than Lloyd. The blatant power play made him bite back a smirk. He'd always been on of the smaller guys out there. He didn't need height to intimidate. His internal smirk grew at the thought of messing with Lloyd. But he knew he couldn't if he wanted things to go perfectly.

Lloyd opened a file. He perused it leisurely, making little hmms and tuts as he read. Clint knew without asking that the file was on John Campbell. He'd memorized it himself in order to be able to accurately answer questions on it.

Lloyd finally spoke, "Well Mr. Campbell, you're being assigned the Cygnus project marketing for your first task here at Lockheed."

Clint nodded in response.

"I want to make it very clear that the only reason you've been assigned such and important project is because you have friends in high places. Don't expect any special treatment from me just because your situation is … unique. I still expect you to do the same work as every other guy here. And the sooner you finish and get out of my department the better."

Clint allowed his smiling facade to melt away, face turning to stone and body radiating danger. Based on the information in his briefing, Lloyd was one of the few who knew that Clint was not actually John Campbell the marketing guru, but rather working for a covert organization.

Lloyd leaned back in his chair and paled slightly at the sudden change in demeanor.

Clint's voice was ice (a trick he'd honed from Natasha) as he spoke, "Mr. Lloyd, I have every intention of getting in and out of here as quickly as possible. You're cooperation with me would be for the best in both of our cases, so I recommend you get to used to giving me special treatment."

Lloyd started to respond but Clint held up a hand to stop him. Lloyd looked baffled that someone would dare interrupt him.

"If this gets blown because of you," Clint said, voice deadly quiet. "You can rest assured that the rest of your life will be short and painful."

Lloyd gulped although the hatred in his eyes became more pronounced.

Clint slipped a smile onto his face again and returned to being John, "Well thanks for getting me set up, Mr. Lloyd. I'm looking forward to working more closely with you. Now, if you could just point me to where my office is I'll get started straight away."

* * *

_The High Woods, Highlands Ranch, Colorado—2007_

Sitting alone in the house after Clint left or work, proved just as boring as Natasha had expected. She had nothing to do. She couldn't leave the house because she couldn't risk missing the neighbors. And she couldn't find anything to do in the house because everything was purely for show. The books: mostly nonfiction treatises on business and interior design. The movies: all old musicals ranging from  _The Music Man_  to  _Singing in the Rain_. The TV shows: all crappy reality TV. Bottom line, Natasha was bored and she didn't know what she was going to do while she waited for the women to arrive.

She flopped onto the couch and sighed. She'd never had such a boring mission and it was only day one. She debated calling Coulson just to complain. She sat up with a horrified look at the thought. Now she was starting to think and sound like Barton. Ugh. She didn't want to emulate Barton's childish behavior when it came to downtime on missions. Natasha had always been able to occupy herself on missions by planning the next move. But when the next move required their targets contacting them, well things were out of her control. There was a reason Natasha wasn't a sniper unless there was no other way. She didn't have to patience to sit up above and watch everything happen, just waiting for the opportune moment.

The ringing doorbell pulled her out of her thoughts and off the couch in a heartbeat. She straightened her sweater and plastered a smile on her face as she moved to answer the door.

Three overly tan women with clearly dyed hair stood at the door, each holding a bag.

Natasha took a deep breath and settled into her cover, forcing herself to relax. She opened the door and smiled, "Hello. Can I help you?"

The taller blonde woman stepped forward and held out her hand, "Hi. Do you mind if we come in? My name is Lyla Foret. This is Janice Miller and Christi Beckett. We live in the neighborhood and we just wanted to welcome you."

Natasha smiled and stepped out of the doorway, allowing the women to walk in. She shook their hands, replying to their cheery smiles, "I'm Emily Campbell. My husband, John, is at work right now."

"Oh, where is he working?" Lyla asked as she led the women into the kitchen.

"At Lockheed Martin. He's working for their marketing department," Natasha explained.

"My husband, Abe, works there too," Lyla said. "He's an engineer, though."

Janice and Christi both nodded and mentioned that their husbands worked at Lockheed at well.

The women all pulled out their welcome gifts: a nice fruit basket from Christi, homemade holiday cookies from Janice, and of course, an extravagant wine and cheese basket from Lyla. As the three women talked to and around Natasha, the power dynamic became clear. Lyla dominated with Christ backing her up on everything while Janice was pushed aside.

When Lyla, Janice, and Christi finally got up to leave, Natasha allowed a slight sigh of relief to slip out. She could only spend so much time pretending to be interested in the gossip about people she didn't know.

"Now you must come shopping with us tomorrow," Lyla said with a light chuckle. "We're all going to find dresses for the neighborhood holiday party."

Janice and Christi nodded emphatically behind her.

"You're coming to the party, right?" Christi said, her voice laced with a challenge.

Natasha shrugged, "I didn't know it was happening. When is it?"

"Two weeks," Janice piped up. "It's at Lyla's house, as usual. Very elegant. You should definitely come! And bring your husband!"

Lyla nodded, "Of course. Do join us, please. I'll send you more details soon. I guess we'll see you tomorrow for shopping."

Natasha nodded easily and waved to the women as they loaded into their cars. As soon as she shut the door, she dropped the act.

Muttering to herself she walked back into the kitchen and poured herself some water. Eyeing the gifts distastefully, Natasha began mentally writing up her report on meeting the women. She shook her head at their blatant disregard of using resources wisely. They had all three driven to see her, though they lived within two streets. And they'd spent sizable chunks of money on the welcome gifts. Except Janice… Janice fit with the other two only because she followed them. Natasha sat down and began writing the report to send to Coulson. This mission could not get any more boring.

* * *

Clint's mind jerked into consciousness with no warning. He froze, trying to make it look like he was still sleeping. His instincts screamed danger but he couldn't figure out what was causing the feeling. Opening his eyes slowly he surveyed the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary: door still closed, no strange shadows, curtains fastened securely, Natasha beside him. He stiffened slightly again when he glanced at Natasha.

She was it. She was the danger. She'd apparently rolled over in her sleep and was now resting her head against his shoulder. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing himself to relax as the adrenaline left his body. He turned slightly so he could see Natasha better.

Her red hair spilled across the pillows and onto his shoulder. Her lips were opened slightly as she breathed. Her face was smooth, free of worry or scorn. She looked like the nineteen-year-old girl she was.

Clint sighed and shifted again, trying to get comfortable without dislodging her. She looked too peaceful to disturb.

Natasha snorted slightly and moved closer to him before settling once more.

He sighed and returned to studying her. They'd been in Highlands Ranch for a week now, and were just biding their time, getting to know Lyla and Abe. They'd make their move at the party, though neither were particularly happy with the idea of going into the house blind.

Natasha shifted again, burrowing a bit more into his shoulder.

Clint smiled as he realized what it meant that she didn't wake up at the moment. She trusted him. Maybe not much, and she'd never admit it. But her subconscious at least trusted him enough to allow her to relax and even sleep while touching him.

He felt warmth spread through his chest and cursed silently. He definitely liked her. How had this insane, highly trained, deadly girl managed to worm her way into his heart? He didn't know, but he didn't regret it either.

He wondered what life would have been like in another universe. A universe where they never met or at least met differently. He frowned as he realized they probably wouldn't have met. They'd have lived their lives separately, on two different continents. Maybe he'd still be in the military. Maybe she'd be a dancer or something. But if they had met, he had no doubt that he would have fallen for her.

Clint shook his head, forcing the thoughts and feelings away. She didn't feel the same way—couldn't feel the same after the life she'd lived. But maybe someday… No, he scolded himself, no he wouldn't think about that. He'd take what she gave now, like the simple act of sleeping on him. Whether she admitted it or not, she trusted him.

He looked up at the ceiling and studied the shadows spilling out from the windows. No, he wouldn't think of his developing feelings or the future, he'd focus on the present, focus on the mission.

* * *

The night of the Foret's neighborhood holiday party rolled around quickly. Almost the entire neighborhood had been invited (the kids would have free reign of the basement). Those who hadn't received an invitation understood the slight and remained home that day, refusing to leave their homes out of fear of running into someone who had been invited and having to answer awkward questions about why they wouldn't be attending.

Clint had bonded with Abe as he worked to create a strong marketing campaign for the Cygnus project that Abe led. So far, he hadn't seen any definitive proof that Abe was selling intelligence, but Clint's suspicions remained high. The man just seemed to ooze sleazy. Between his time spent with Abe at work and his brief introduction to Lyla (she had stopped by to visit "Emily" and was there when he got home one day) made him think that they were definitely in on something.

Natasha hated everything about this mission. From having to spend her days with the most vapid people she'd ever met to then spending nights with her partner. She didn't have a moment to relax and let her guard down. And of course, she couldn't do anything but run to get some of her energy out. Emily and John would never dream of hitting a punching bag, let alone actually sparring with someone else. Getting close to Lyla had been laughably easy and now she wanted nothing more than for the mission to be over. Tonight was their deadline and their last chance to get what they needed. She had a feeling it would prove as boring and easy as everything else.

Lyla and Abe's home was lavish. The perfectly straight rows of white Christmas lights outlined the massive building. The yard boasted seven large, perfectly decorated evergreen trees. The snow blanketed the lawn in a perfectly flat blanket (an impressive feat considering the recent wind caused most snow to drift).

Inside was no less stunning, with garlands and lights lining every railing and room. Soft music came from the string quartet hired for the event.

Natasha smiled warmly at Lyla as she came to greet them, "Emily, John. I'm so glad you made it!"

"We're happy to be here," Clint lied smoothly as he helped Natasha shrug off her coat.

While out shopping with the women of the High Woods, Natasha had purchased a floor length, navy blue Ralph Lauren gown. It had a silver buckle-like jewel on the left hip where the fabric gathered. The slit up the left side teased at what was under but remained classy. She wore silver, strappy heels with it and her hair pinned up into an elaborate up-do. The look of shock and awe on Clint's face when she'd walked downstairs that evening had been worth it. After months of him not giving her a second glance, it was nice to know she still had such an effect on men.

Clint had cleaned up as well. He wore a dark gray suit and white shirt. The navy blue tie matched Natasha's dress (he'd quipped that he ought to have bought her a corsage to match). Even Natasha had had to admit he cleaned up well. The suit fit him well, implying the fit figure within but still allowing him a range of motion and not showing the weapons he had strapped around his body.

"Come in, come in," Lyla beckoned as she had someone on staff take their coats. "Let me get you both something to drink."

Walking into the main living and dining areas of the house, Natasha and Clint finally saw all of the guests.

"Abe," Lyla called as she approached the bar they'd set up.

Abe Foret turned around. Blonde and tall like his wife, they could have been mistaken for siblings, a thought that gave Clint much glee when it occurred to him.

"Look who's arrived," Lyla continued. "I don't believe you've met Emily yet."

Abe shook his head and offered his hand to Natasha.

She accepted his hand with a coy smile, "It's nice to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, my dear," he replied, voice smooth as honey. He bent over and kissed her hand, lingering too long for anyone to doubt his motives.

Lyla turned back from the bar and offered two glasses of red wine to Clint and Natasha, "Now it's an open bar so don't be shy. The staff is walking around with trays of food, help yourself."

Clint and Natasha nodded and allowed her to sweep Abe away to greet some others who had arrived.

Clint looked at Natasha expectantly, "Shall we?"

She shook her head and nodded towards Christi. The blonde woman sniffed and turned to the short, squat man beside her. He looked over at Natasha and Clint with a frown.

"We can't leave until we're sure no one's watching," Natasha murmured.

"Who's the blonde chick?" Clint asked in response, swirling his wine in the glass.

"Christi Beckett," Natasha said lowly, she didn't want to be overheard. "She's close to Lyla and not particularly happy with me because I've been taking her place in Lyla's confidence."

"So it's not a good thing she's coming this way," Clint said with a glance in the woman's direction.

"Not really." Natasha plastered a smile on her face as the Becketts walked up. "Hi Christi, it's so good to see you!"

Clint fought to urge to laugh at her fake cheery voice as the women leaned in to fake kiss each other's cheeks.

"You as well," Christi replied with a fake smile, barely concealing the cruelty in her face. "I wanted to introduce you to my husband, Stuart. Stuart this is Emily and her husband…"

"John," Clint supplied with a smile of his own, offering his hand to the Becketts.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Christi drawled.

"We are," Natasha replied kindly, refusing to show her annoyance at the woman. "We've only just arrived but it's wonderful so far."

Meanwhile the men had struck up a conversation about their work. Stuart was explaining the details of his new rocket propulsion system to Clint, who nodded along, pretending to understand the technical jargon. Eventually, the Becketts excused themselves, they'd seen Stuart's boss arrive and needed to greet him as well.

Natasha scanned the room after they'd left and turned to face Clint, "We should go now. No one's paying attention, the Forets are gone, and we've satisfied Christi."

The two assassins left the living room as casually as possible. Clint kept his hand on Natasha's lower back to make it seem like they were just getting away for a moment of privacy. As soon as they were out of sight, they both dropped their covers and moved upstairs. Based on SHIELD's knowledge, Abe's home office occupied the room at the top of the stairs on the second floor. Staying alert, they stood outside the door. Clint jiggled the handle, "Shit. It's locked."

Natasha smirked, "Keep watch."

He turned obediently and kept an eye on the stairs as she crouched and produced a set of lock picks. Clint forced himself to keep focused, rather than imagining where those lock picks had been kept.

Within seconds Natasha had the lock open and tapped Clint's shoulder to bring him into the room behind her. They shut the door, just to be safe and moved to the computer.

Clint withdrew a flash drive from his sleeve while Natasha pulled out a phone and dialed Coulson. They weren't wearing earpieces for this so cell phone was their only method of connection to their handler.

"We're in," Natasha said into the phone, keeping her voice low in case someone was outside the door.

"Stay on the line," Phil replied. "Let me know once the files are being sent.

"Copy."

Natasha turned to watch Clint as he clicked through the drive and activated the SHIELD operated hacking program. The screen turned to blue with a page of white coding running across it. They watched as the SHIELD program worked to combat the computer's firewalls and safeguards. Five minutes later the screen changed to black with neon green words flashing across it "ACCESS GRANTED."

Clint grinned, "Give me a minute."

"The program just finished," Natasha reported to Coulson. She stepped towards the door and listened for any sign of movement outside. They'd be able to justify being pretty much anywhere else in the house. How they'd gotten into a locked room and what they were doing inside would be difficult to explain.

"Found the files," Clint called.

She moved back behind the desk as he began dragging the information onto the drive. It was already linked to SHIELD satellites and automatically uploading the information to them.

"Sending now," Natasha reported before turning her attention back to the computer. She chuckled under her breath, "Looks like Abe is only the information source. It's Lyla who's organizing and orchestrating the drops."

Coulson didn't reply for a moment, "I'm getting the files now. I see what you mean. Looks like we've got enough to get both of them."

"That all I can find," Clint said in the background.

"I heard," Coulson told Natasha before she could relay the information. "Tell him we're good. In fact, you two want to do the takedown?"

Natasha smirked, "It would be our genuine pleasure."

"Great, wait five minutes then go. There's a team of backup one mile out. They should be there by the time you've made contact."

"Are we trying to keep this quiet?" Natasha asked.

"No need to. We want others to see what happens when you pass classified information to terrorists. Hopefully that'll keep those jumped up scientists content to sit at their desks."

"Yes, sir. We'll contact once we've arrested them."

Natasha put the phone away and turned to Clint, who was looking at her like a child who'd been told Christmas had come early, "We get to arrest them?"

She rolled her eyes at the obvious enthusiasm in his voice, "Yes. We get to arrest them. We just have to wait for three more minutes to make our move."

Clint nodded, barely containing his joy, "We should probably go get eyes on the Forets. It'll be easier if they're together than if they're in separate places."

Natasha nodded and after checking the door once again, they snuck back out of the room and downstairs. Exploring the main floor only took a couple of minutes. They found the Forets almost immediately, seated in the living room with several admirers around them. Clint and Natasha exchanged looks before stepping forward, it was time.

"Mr. and Mrs. Foret," Natasha called, drawing their attention while Clint circled around.

"You are under arrest for passing classified information to international terrorists and as such will be treated as terrorists yourselves," Clint finished, stepping up behind them.

"Excuse me?" Lyla said, eyes filled with panic as she tried to appear calm and collected.

"You heard us," Natasha said, standing ready before the woman. "Please don't make a scene."

"Who are you to accuse us of terrorism?" Abe said as he stood.

"We work for SHIELD and right about now a team is surrounding this house to take you into custody. It would be in your best interest to come quietly," Clint replied.

The Forets exchanged a look before they nodded and held up their hands. Clint grabbed Lyla and twisted one arm behind her, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to control her with. Natasha repeated the action on Abe and the two led them outside to the waiting SHIELD team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "I may have caused some trouble in the control room and now Fury is looking for me…"
> 
> "Sucks to be you then," Natasha deadpanned.
> 
> "Please," Clint begged. "Help me."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that yesterday's chapter didn't get posted on time. Apparently I forgot to actually post it after getting it saved as a draft. So that's why there are two chapters for today.

 

_Waverly, Iowa—1989_

Barney Barton laughed at his younger brother as Clint wandered out of their bedroom decked out in red, white, and blue, "You got enough red, white, and blue on?"

Clint looked down, "Do I need more?"

Barney shook his head and grabbed Clint's hand, "Nah, bro, you've got plenty." Sarcasm remained a foreign concept to the four-year-old.

"Are we gonna get to eat hotdogs?" Clint asked Barney as they made their way downstairs to where their parents waited.

"Yeah, and watermelon!" Barney added. "Maybe we'll even get some cupcakes."

"Whoa," Clint's face was filled with awe. He could hardly imagine a night where he would get to eat so many of his favorite foods. "And fireworks?"

"Definitely fireworks," Barney said. "But only if we don't make dad mad, otherwise we'll have to come home early."

"I'll be good," Clint promised with eyes wide with sincerity.

"I know you will, bud."

The Barton family filed out of the house and into the car in near silence. The boys were humming with restrained excitement as the family drove to the town center. They found a parking spot and got out of the car. It looked like the entire town had shown up to celebrate the Fourth of July.

Barney looked up at his parents, both of them seemed to be in a good mood, "Can Clint and I go look around by ourselves?"

Mr. Barton hesitated before nodding once decisively, "Meet by that tree for the fireworks. Here's some money to get dinner, don't you dare buy anything else." He pointed to one of the smaller trees in the park and Barney made sure to memorize the location.

"Yes, sir," Barney said before turning to his little brother. "C'mon Clint. Let's go!"

Clint chased after Barney with a gleeful smile, unable to contain his excitement anymore.

The boys wandered through the celebration, smiling at the adults who recognized them.

"Do you want a hotdog?" Barney asked when they found the hotdog stand.

Clint nodded emphatically, "Yes, please."

"Two hotdogs, please," Barney told the man as he stepped up and held out the money.

The man looked at the two little boys in front of them and smiled, "Sure thing kid."

Barney insisted on carrying both hotdogs while Clint clung to his shirt. When they found a place to sit down, Barney handed over one of the hotdogs and allowed his brother to start eating. "Slow down," he chastised the younger boy through a mouthful of his own hotdog. "We don't need you to start choking."

Clint nodded and swallowed. He took a smaller bite, "This is so good!"

"Okay," Barney said once they'd finished. "We have about twenty minutes left before we have to meet mom and dad. What do you want to do?"

Clint tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Can we get cupcakes?"

Barney grinned, "Sure! Let's go!"

They raced off through the celebration again finding the cupcake table and handing over the rest of the money they had. They found another place to stand and watched the beanbag toss as they munched on the chocolate dessert.

"Is it time for fireworks?" Clint asked as they headed back to the meeting spot.

"Yep! We've gotta get good seats before anyone else," Barney explained when they saw their parents.

The Barton family settled in to watch the fireworks, with Clint and Barney staying close to their parents and remaining quiet. When it was finally dark enough, the show began. Clint stared in wonder at the show eyes wide and mouth open in awe. Right then and there, he decided that he loved fireworks.

* * *

_Clint's Apartment, New York City—2007_

Natasha arrived promptly at nine on Christmas morning. She'd debated the value of fighting Clint on his insistence that they celebrate together, but after him showing up at her house on Thanksgiving, she'd realized that her best bet was to just go along with it. She knew Phil would be joining them once again, though it seemed he had agreed ahead of time, much as she had. She shifted the bags she carried into her other hand (Clint had insisted on gifts) and knocked on the door.

The door flew open with enough force to make Natasha tense. She hadn't expected so much energy so early in the morning.

"Merry Christmas, Romanoff!" Clint exclaimed as he ushered her inside.

"Merry Christmas," she replied in a mumble.

"Now that you're here we can open presents!" Clint practically yelped.

Natasha caught sight of Phil when they entered Clint's living room and sat down on the couch. Clint took the bags from her and placed them under the tree with an assortment of other gifts.

"Okay, rules," Clint said, holding up a finger. "First, only one person can open at a time. Second, you have to start with your Santa present first. Third, you have to pretend you like the gift no matter what. Any questions?"

Phil rolled his eyes and turned to Natasha, "He's been like this all morning."

Natasha smirked but accepted the gift Clint pushed at her, "You don't honestly expect me to believe in Santa, do you?"

Clint scoffed, "Someone needs to read  _Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus_. Then you'll understand that Santa exists."

Natasha didn't bother to reply, merely turning to examine the package on her lap. It didn't seem dangerous, but she wouldn't have survived this long without being suspicious of everything.

"I'll go first," Clint volunteered, unable to keep the excitement off his face.

"I'm sorry," Natasha interrupted. "But shouldn't we go in order of age?"

Phil smirked and looked at Clint, "Yeah, according to you and your 'tradition,' youngest starts. So it's Romanoff who gets to go first."

"Unless we're going by mental age," Natasha said, looking smug. "In which case, Barton's five-year-old self lets him go first."

Clint crossed his arms and pouted, "I don't like it when you two gang up on me."

"Better decided quick: physical or mental age for who goes first," Natasha taunted.

Clint thought for a moment before turning to look at her, "Physical."

Natasha frowned, she hadn't really wanted to go first. She just wanted to give Clint crap for acting like a five-year-old. Straightening, she moved towards the edge of the couch and began opening the package slowly, taking her time to keep the paper intact.

Clint sighed, "Come one, just rip into it! We're not saving the paper."

Natasha rolled her eyes and continued her methodical unwrapping. She pulled the paper off and fought back the gasp that threatened to escape. A beautiful, red-leather bound book sat in her lap. The red leather had ornate golden designs woven throughout it and the title shown in the same, metallic gold: Анна Каренина.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"What is it?" Phil asked, unable to read the Russian.

"A copy of  _Anna Karenina_  in the original Russian," Clint explained with a triumphant grin.

Phil nodded once, understanding that it would have cultural significance to the young woman in front of him. It struck him just how young his agents were, they'd barely had childhoods, but they clung to what they knew. Clint still went to every circus that passed through and found the youngest members. He'd buy them treats and tell them they were awesome for doing what they did.

"My turn!" Clint yelped.

"Don't you know what's in there?" Natasha asked cruelly.

The man glared at her, "That's not the point."

With a final glare at Natasha, Clint dug into the package, unwrapping a fist-sized bundle. He held up a couple of packets of baseball cards, "Thanks Santa! Some new baseball cards!"

"Oh good," Phil smirked. "Now we get to listen to you complain about still not having all of the 2007 MLB cards because you got a bunch more doubles."

Clint stuck out his tongue, "I don't appreciate your sass, Phil."

Phil just smirked and continued to study Clint.

"Anyway," Clint continued. "It's your turn to open your gift from Santa."

Of the three Santa gifts, Phil's was the smallest. Wrapped in lovely red paper, it was about the size of a notecard and flexible when Phil bent it slightly, making whatever was inside curve.

"Alright, here goes nothing," Phil said. He opened the gift carefully, not wanting to tear whatever was inside. A moment later he withdrew a small manila envelope and opened it up.

"Wow," Phil said, looking up at Clint, awestruck. "I—I—Thank you."

"You're welcome," Clint replied with a nod.

"What is it?" Natasha asked, looking over curiously at Phil's hand.

"A vintage Captain America card from the 1940s," Phil explained, showing it to Natasha before he remembered how he was trying to dislike her. "I've been collecting them since I was a kid. Now I'm only missing three of them."

"Now that Santa gifts are over we get to start with the other ones!" Clint brought their attention back to him. "So, if we're going in the same order, Natasha gets to start. If we want to change the order, I volunteer to go first."

Natasha smirked evilly at him, "Barton, I'll keep going first as long as it continues to annoy you."

Clint pouted and sank back into the couch, he huffed, "Fine."

"Which one are you going to start with," Clint asked. "Mine or Phil's?"

Natasha studied Clint for a moment, "Coulson's."

Clint's crestfallen face made her bite her cheek to keep from grinning in triumph. After having Barton try to bait her and mess with her all the time, Natasha realized that she quite enjoyed going back at him.

She picked up the small bag Phil had brought and pulled out he festive tissue paper. Inside, she found a small box, that when opened, revealed a gift card to Barnes and Noble. She realized he must have talked to Clint in order to learn that she like books. It was a bit worrying that two people knew something so personal about her, but she appreciated the effort Coulson put into getting her a gift, even if he didn't particularly like her.

"Thank you," she said, trying to show her sincerity.

Coulson nodded and turned to Clint, "Okay, he said. I'm going to open the one from Phil first!"

He tore into the wrapping paper and pulled out a large box, "You got me something big, eh?"

Phil rolled his eyes and gestured for the man to continue unwrapping it.

Clint opened the box to find another, smaller box, also wrapped up. He tore into it with enthusiasm and revealed, yet another box. The pattern continued for several boxes as Clint's energy began to wane. Both Phil and Natasha were having trouble not laughing at the putout look on the young man's face.

Finally, he opened a box and found that it contained the actual gift. Inside, sat beautifully crafted leather arm guards for shooting. Clint grinned as he pulled them out, "Wow Phil. Thanks."

"They should fit well," Phil said. "They're custom made. I took the measurements back in February when you were lying unconscious in the infirmary."

"Sneaky bastard," Clint muttered as he slid them onto his arms. He flexed his forearms and fingers before miming drawing a bow. "Yeah, I think these'll work nicely."

Phil reached out and picked up the gift from Natasha. He felt a bit of trepidation as he moved the tissue paper out of the bag. While he didn't expect her to put something deadly in the bag, he also wouldn't put it past her. It was the perfect opportunity for someone as ruthless as her. His fears went unrealized though as he withdrew a few packets of color-coded binder dividers. He smiled slightly, remembering mentioning at a training session that he needed to get things color-coded in his binders. The fact that Natasha had remembered and actually gotten him something useful made Phil feel touched.

"These are perfect," he said with a half smile to Natasha.

She forced herself to return it with one of her own. She'd had no idea what to get Coulson, especially since she didn't know him very well or particularly care about him. It felt good to know she'd gotten him something he appreciated and could use.

Natasha pulled Clint's gift toward her. Frowning at his smug look, she delicately unwrapped the parcel. Inside, she found a long, narrow box, which she opened gingerly. She half expected it to be booby trapped with something waiting to jump out at her. Instead, she found herself gazing down on a lovely new knife. The ornate hilt was decorated in jeweled flowers, flashing to reflect the light. The greens and reds and blues complemented each other perfectly and Natasha knew Clint must have spent a small fortune on this. The blade itself was long and thin, meant for piercing over cutting. She lifted the weapon and tested the edge against her hand. Nice and sharp.

"According to the guy I got it from," Clint explained. "It's meant to be worn in your hair. It looks like a hairpin so no one will suspect anything when they see it."

Natasha sent him a genuine smile in appreciation as she put the knife back into its box, "Thanks."

Clint nodded and smiled back, happy to see his gift had been well received and not immediately imbedded in the wall, or him.

"Now I get to see what you got me," Clint teased. "It better be good!"

Natasha rolled her eyes but her lips quirked into a slight smile in response. She had a feeling he'd like what she'd bought him. While not as expensive as her gift, it showed that she actually did pay attention to him.

Clint withdrew five objects wrapped in different colors of tissue paper. He wiggled his eyebrows at Natasha, "I like the effort put into wrapping this."

"Shut up and open it, Barton," she barked.

"Kinky," Clint said as he began unwrapping the gifts.

Natasha narrowed her eyes as her fingers twitched toward the dagger, the temptation to lob it at her partner growing each time he opened his mouth.

"Awesome!" Clint exclaimed a moment later when finished unwrapping the gift. Five DVDs lay in front of him. "All of the Harry Potter movies on DVD!"

"You've been complaining about not owning them for a month now," Natasha said by way of explanation.

Clint opened his mouth but Natasha held up her hand and continued speaking, "And no, this does not mean that I agree to watch them with you."

Clint's face fell a bit before he bounced back to his perky self, "Fine. I will convince you though! By the way, thanks."

Phil fought down his rising amusement as the two bantered in front of him. It seemed they were finally getting along. Maybe this partnership would be as successful as Fury thought. Of course, that only worked if Barton could keep his emotions aside and not make things complicated. Phil didn't miss the overly warm smile he sent to the woman.

"Okay," Phil said. "I guess I'll open what Clint gave me now. Then we can be done with gifts."

"Gifts are great," Clint whined. "I wish we had more… New rule: next year everybody has to bring a Santa gift for the other two and a regular gift!"

"Whatever," Natasha muttered as she turned to watch Phil open his present. She knew that Clint and Phil had a very strong bond, so she expected an incredibly meaningful gift from the archer to the older man.

Phil tore the paper off of the box that contained his gift. He opened it up and pulled out a stack of DVDs. Eyes wide and mouth open in awe, Phil turned to Clint.

"How—How did you get these?" he asked, holding up the stack of DVDs, clearly labeled with "Captain America WW2 Footage and War Bonds Sales."

"I know a guy," Clint said with a shrug.

Phil snorted at the non-answer, "I know these must have taken forever for you to track down. Half of this material is still considered classified."

"It was no problem, not for you," Clint said, the sincerity bleeding through every part of him.

Natasha felt her heart ache a bit as she watched the men embrace. Would she ever have a relationship as trusting and open as theirs? No, she realized. Not until she learned to trust as deeply, and she doubted that would ever happen, not with how her life had gone for years… She didn't have the capacity for such a relationship, she decided.

After cleaning up from gift opening, the trio found themselves in the kitchen with Phil and Natasha assisting Clint as he made the meal, much as they had at Thanksgiving. As they were setting the table Clint turned to them, "By the way, you're both invited over for New Year's Eve too. Maybe we can go ice-skating!"

"Ice-skating?" Natasha asked.

Clint frowned, "Please tell me you've been ice-skating before. You know, where you skate around on a ring of ice with a bunch of people?"

"The only ice-skating I've done was when I had no other way to cross a frozen lake during a training exercise," Natasha explained with a nonchalant shrug.

"We're going to fix that. Ice-skating on New Year's Eve Day. Phil you in?" Clint replied.

Phil shook his head ruefully, "Sorry but Fury's sending me out of town for a couple of weeks around New Year's. He needs me to look into the Atlanta base's operation, see if we can help them out at all."

"Dang," Clint shook his head in response. "Guess you're missing the fireworks then."

"Sorry, if I had a choice I'd rather stay in New York."

* * *

_New York City—2007_

Clint smiled to himself as he wandered through the city with Natasha. Phil had left the day before and Clint hadn't been able to get the idea that Natasha had never ice-skated for fun out of his head. He'd called her up that morning and invited her to go ice-skating with him, promising to buy her hot chocolate afterward. He'd prepared a list of reasons she should come with and some creative threats in order to convince her to join him. He'd actually been a bit disappointed when she had agreed after only a moment to think. But now, he couldn't stop smiling. He was finally making progress with her.

"So you've been ice-skating once before?" Clint asked.

She shrugged, "I wouldn't compare that experience to what you made this sound like. It was ten minutes of me trying to get across a frozen lake without getting killed."

"Well, at least you won't have the same pressure as before."

Natasha chuckled darkly in response, "I suppose that's true."

They arrived at the rink. Clint walked up to the counter and paid for their admission and skate rental. Natasha started to pull out her money but he shook his head, "On me. It'll be worth it when I watch you fall on your ass."

"Please," she scoffed.

Both assassins laced their skates on with practiced precision, used to lacing up combat boots quickly.

Clint stood and stretched, balancing carefully on the thin metal blades. When Natasha pushed herself up and teetered slightly he reached out to steady her.

"I'm fine," she brushed his hand away.

Clint nodded and gestured to the ice with a smirk, "Shall we?"

Natasha followed him to the opening in the wall that surrounded the rink and watched how he used the wall to steady himself as he moved onto the ice.

"A bit of advice," Clint turned to face her once he was on the ice. "Hold onto the wall until you're steady on the ice."

Clinging to the wall, Natasha stepped gingerly onto the ice. She had to focus on maintaining her balance when all of her weight rested on the two blades attached to her boots.

By cautiously maneuvering herself around the wall, Natasha managed to sidle up next to Clint. The man shot her an amused smile, "How you doing?"

"Fine," she shot back while removing her hands from the wall. She refused to let him beat her at this.

"Ready to skate?"

Natasha's determined nod encouraged Clint to push away from the wall and into the path of other skaters. Slowly, the two assassins joined into the loop the other skaters were moving in and made their way around the ice.

"Let's pick it up a bit," Clint challenged after a couple of laps.

Natasha nodded and picked up her pace to match his. When one skate slid out from under her a bit she threw her hands out to catch her balance and bit her lip. The sudden threat of falling had startled her. She took a deep breath and caught up to Clint quickly.

"You okay?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

"Yep," Natasha replied, ignoring her own doubts.

They continued skating, making small talk as they did so. When music began playing over the speakers, Clint grinned widely, commenting that he loved the song. He proceeded to begin singing "Frosty the Snowman" to Natasha.

"Isn't Christmas over?" she asked curious as to why Christmas music was still playing.

Clint nodded, "Yes, but decorations stay up and the music sticks around through New Year's."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun. It only happens once a year, so people try to make it last as long as possible. And hey, you can only stand the music for the holiday season so people try to cram a year's worth of listening into about a month."

Natasha nodded.

When the song changed, Clint continued to sing, paying more attention to "Jingle Bell Rock" than to where he was going. He nearly crashed into a little kids using one of the weird ice-walker things in front of him. Swerving to avoid the kid resulted in his careening towards the side of the rink with little chance of stopping. Clint slammed into the wall around the rink, his hands gripping the edge a second before his feet crashed into the wall making a dull thunk.

Natasha skated smoothly over to him with a smirk, "How's it going?"

Clint glared, "I don't need your sass right now."

Natasha nodded and pushed off the wall, getting them back into the stream of people. A few minutes later she turned to face him, "Wanna race?"

Clint frowned at the mischievous glint in Natasha's eyes, but couldn't help but nod. He was always up for a challenge and racing the assassin seemed a worthy task. And since she actually seemed interested in having fun over the actual competition, well, he wouldn't do anything to discourage her engaging with him.

"You're on," he smirked back. "See the red line on the ice? We'll start when we get there. First one to complete a lap around and end up back at the line wins. Penalties if you run into anyone or anything. Does that work?"

"Sounds perfect."

They two assassins kept pace with each other as they approached the line, each tensed to take off upon reaching the starting point.

"Go," Clint called as they reached the line.

Natasha pumped her legs and arms faster to propel herself forward and away from Clint. The man had tried the same thing, but he'd swung into her path, hoping to block her.

"Nice try," she taunted as she swerved around him, using her natural agility to her advantage.

Clint grinned and raced to catch up with her.

They spun around the ring together, each pulling ahead at various points.

Natasha managed to cross the finish line a moment before Clint did and pumped her fist in the air with a triumphant grin. She moved to the wall to catch her breath and laughed.

The high, clear sound of Natasha's laugh caused Clint to tweak his neck slightly as he turned to see what the noise was. He'd never heard her laugh before, at least not a true laugh like this. She was happy, he realized. Clint's sour look at his defeat turned into an honest grin as he listened to the sound of his partner's laugh.

* * *

_SHIELD New York Base—2007_

New Year's Eve day found Clint Barton wandering the halls of the SHIELD base quite bored. He'd already visited Sanders in medical and harassed him about his lack of personal life. He'd tried to get Natasha to spar with him, but she'd been practicing her knife throwing and after one landed a bit too close to his head he'd decided to find somewhere else to spend time. He'd even gone to see if Patrick wanted him to help with training the new recruits but discovered they were out on a training mission. If Phil were around he could have harassed him. So instead he wandered the halls wondering what to spend his time doing.

With a smirk, he realized that some of the junior techs were working in the control room of the base right now, just getting some basic practice in before they found themselves in a crisis. Well, why not give them a bit of practice at working through distractions?

Clint scurried back to his room to grab the necessary items before heading into the vents that ran through SHIELD. Every time he found himself crawling through the spacious air ducts, he shook his head at the designer's folly. Seriously, it's a top-secret military base but the air vents are big enough for people to crawl around in? He knew that he was one of a few who actually knew the vents could be used successfully. No one really expected anyone to be moving around inside the base via the ducts; therefore they made the perfect method for causing mayhem.

Crawling through the base always made Clint feel more peaceful. He was able to observe everything and everyone below him. After all, he saw better from a distance. He moved cautiously in order to keep the ducts from creaking as his weight shifted. As he passed through the range, he allowed himself to come to a stop over a grate and observe Natasha as she threw one perfect throw after another with her knives.

He remained still, just watching the mesmerizing action of her steady throws, until she spun quickly, knife raised for a throw. Her eyes honed in on where he lay in the ducts that laced the ceiling.

Clint considered staying frozen, but realized that she had found him out before he'd actually made a sound. No use in trying to trick her into thinking it was someone else. Clint blew a breath out of his nose and kept moving through the room, hoping she wouldn't decide to take a shot at him.

After a moment, Natasha returned to her targets and continued throwing with her deadly precision.

Finally, Clint found himself above the control too and looking down from one of the air vents at the men and women moving around the room. Perfect, they seemed to be in the middle of something but not anything too important, Clint thought to himself as he pulled out his supplies and took aim.

A marshmallow flew from the gun in his hand and hit one of the red buttons on a control panel before falling down between two consoles. While Clint didn't know what exactly that button did, he did know that nothing good came of red buttons being pushed without a reason. Right on schedule, the screen began flashing a warning symbol and the tech watching it froze for a moment.

The young man began speaking into his earpiece as he began working to rectify the situation. Clint smirked as he took aim at another terminal, hitting a randomly selected button and causing the three techs to start typing furiously.

The next three marshmallows knocked out three more terminals. Then the junior agents began to panic. Even the senior agents observing were stumped, having no idea why this combination of issues was happening. They couldn't help but begin to get suspicious and think the base was under attack.

That's when Clint began attacking in earnest. His shots bounced off of agents and buttons with unerring precision. Chaos erupted below him as agents raced from one place to another, no one really understanding what was happening. The junior agents looked to the senior ones for guidance but found they were just as lost.

Peace returned only when Nick Fury stepped out of his office and whistled loudly, "What the hell is happening out here?"

One of the junior agents stepped forward with a gulp. Clint realized that the Hispanic woman stepping up must have been in charge of the control room for the day.

"Sir," she said, with no detectable waver in her voice. "We seem to be under attack. Many of the terminals are reporting fires, perimeter breaches, and some have even tried to deploy anti-attack methods."

"Is there an attack?" Fury asked calmly.

"Not that we've been able to verify. Things started getting chaotic when agents felt themselves being hit with something."

Fury cocked and eyebrow and scanned the room. He stalked over to a bank of consoles and bent down. When he rose, he held a single marshmallow between his thumb and forefinger.

"Seriously? My agents panic when some marshmallows hit them and possibly hit some buttons? What kind of operation are we running here if that's the response to such a trivial issue?" Fury continued, voice rising in annoyance. He turned and looked up at the grates around the room, bellowing: "BARTON!"

Clint cursed silently at being caught so easily and began to retreat from the room as quickly as possible. He debated going back to his room, but that was too obvious. And he couldn't risk anyone finding the marshmallow gun there. Instead, he headed towards the range. He'd join Natasha and hopefully get her to cover for him should Fury track him down.

Dropping into the range resulted in him nearly losing an ear as a knife whizzed by, close enough to skim the rim of his left ear.

"Whoa!" Clint cried in surprise. "It's just me."

Natasha raised an eyebrow in scorn and returned to her practice, "What do you want?"

Clint considered trying to bluff before realizing that honesty was the best policy with her, "I may have caused some trouble in the control room and now Fury is looking for me…"

"Sucks to be you then," Natasha deadpanned.

"Please," Clint begged. "Help me."

Natasha rolled her eyes and returned to her target practice. Clint took her silence as implicit consent to helping him out when Fury caught up to them.

The assassins spent the next few minutes in silence as Natasha cycled through her pile of knives again.

"Mind if I throw some?" Clint asked mildly.

Natasha stared at him for a long moment before nodding once. She picked up a knife and hit the center of the target.

Clint stepped up next to her and made his own throw. The knife hit the target next to Natasha's, though it didn't stick as far into the target as the other.

Natasha scoffed and threw another knife, sinking it further into the target than the first one. She raised an eyebrow cockily at Clint as he huffed and grabbed another knife.

"Show off," he muttered, tossing the knife towards the target.

Natasha sighed, "Your form sucks. The only reason you're doing well is because of your preternatural aim."

"My form is fine, thank you very much."

An undignified snort escaped Natasha, "You aren't even holding the knife correctly."

She grabbed Clint's wrist roughly and adjusted his fingers on the knife handle. He watched her, slightly amazed that she had initiated physical contact between the two of them.

Clint threw the knife, making sure to keep his grip how Natasha had set it. The knife dug into the target with more force than he'd managed to use before. He nodded and picked up another, planning to memorize how to properly hold the knife.

A moment later, the knife flew from his hand, hitting the target a bit off-center. No one would notice but both Clint and Natasha saw the lack of accuracy. They spun to face the one and only Nick Fury as he stormed into the room.

"Get him off my base," he snarled to Natasha.

She looked at him without flinching, "Any particular reason why, sir?"

"Because without Coulson here to keep a leash on him he's causing chaos and I do not have the patience for this," Fury replied with a glare at Clint.

Clint looked down at his shoes, "It's like I'm not even here. And you can't prove anything!"

Fury gave Clint a look of derision at the challenge, "You really want to test that theory, Agent Barton?"

"No," Clint muttered sullenly.

"Sir," Natasha said with an air of utter boredom. "If you want him gone so badly I'll drag him back to his apartment."

Fury nodded once before turning and leaving.

Clint turned to Natasha as she gathered her knives, "Thanks for your support."

"I told you I wasn't helping. I did keep him from killing you, though." She started towards the door before turning to look back at Clint, "Come on. Didn't you promise me fireworks today?"

Clint smiled behind her back and followed her out of the room. He had no problem watching fireworks with Natasha. He liked seeing this more relaxed side of his partner.

"My building has a good view of the fireworks and the ball drop," Clint said as they walked out of the SHIELD base.

Natasha nodded and climbed into the car Clint had brought to base.

"We can stop and get some champagne too," Clint continued. "Here in America we like to celebrate with a toast and a kiss for the New Year."

Natasha snorted, "I'm not kissing you."

"Fine," he smirked. "Then you have to buy the champagne."

She frowned in response.

After a moment, Clint's face lit up with glee, "That's right. You can't buy alcohol here! You're only nineteen!"

"Глупые американцы и их законы," Natasha muttered under her breath.  _(Stupid Americans and their laws)._

Clint chuckled, "I'll buy you some sparkling apple cider. It looks like champagne but is just carbonated apple juice. It's what all the underage kids have for New Year's."

"You know, I could probably out drink you," she mentioned casually in response.

"Please. You've gotta be a lightweight. I doubt you'd stand a chance."

"I'm Russian. I've been drinking since I was fourteen. And I know how to hold my liquor. I was trained to in fact."

Clint didn't reply, instead returning his attention to the road. Traffic was heavy as people rushed to get last minute items for their parties before the stores closed and then hurried off to the various events happening in the city. Natasha elected to remain in the car while Clint stopped to get champagne. He walked out of the store with a triumphant grin and pulled out a bottle of apple cider. Natasha found herself wondering how he'd react if she smashed the bottle over his head.

"Don't worry," he commented as they entered his building. "I might share some of my champagne with you."

Inside, Clint flipped on the TV to the Times Square coverage and began moving around in the kitchen, "How does spaghetti and meatballs sound for dinner?" he called over his shoulder.

Natasha shrugged, "Sounds fine. Where did you learn how to cook?"

"For a mission. I had to go undercover, so Phil arranged some cooking lessons for me. It was definitely a bonus for him too since now I cook for us on missions rather than having us just eat MREs or takeout," Clint explained.

Natasha just nodded as she took a seat at the bar in his apartment and watched him expertly craft their meal. A little while later, they were both sitting in front of the TV watching as Ryan Seacrest announced various acts and the commentators discussed the highlights of the year.

"If we're just watching it on TV, why did you make us come here?" Natasha complained as she finished eating.

"We'll go up to the roof when it gets closer to the actual drop and fireworks. You don't have to stay if you don't want to…"

Natasha sighed but remained seated. She didn't really mind spending time in his apartment, but she was bored and wanted something to do other than sit and watch coverage of things she didn't really care about.

After a few minutes Natasha stood abruptly and grabbed Clint's plate. He watched with an amused smile as she moved into the kitchen and did the dishes from their meal.

A while later, Clint stood from the couch and opened the front closet. He pulled out a pile of blankets and gestured towards the champagne and cider sitting on the bar. Natasha grabbed the drinks and some glasses before following him, her anticipation rising as they moved out of the apartment and onto the roof.

Clint spread the blankets on the ground, far enough away from the edge to be able to see over the small wall that ringed the space. "We should be able to see some fireworks over there," he said, pointing east. He moved to point slightly north, "And the ball drops over there, you can see the lights from it and hear the cheers."

Natasha nodded and settled back onto the blankets. She'd never seen fireworks before and she was looking forward to it. Everything she knew about them suggested they were awe-inspiring and beautiful.

She allowed her eyes to close as she sipped on the cider Clint had handed her (he'd said they were saving the actual champagne for midnight). A loud bang caused her to sit up and look around, expecting an attack.

Clint chuckled, "Relax. The fireworks are starting."

She forced herself to relax and turned to face the direction Clint had pointed out earlier. A bright burst of golden sparks appeared in the sky, followed by another loud crack. Then the show truly began. The silver, gold, red, and green explosions provided a festive touch to the display. Natasha found herself mesmerized as she watched the show, eyes wide with wonder. She'd never seen anything quite as magnificent as this. The powerful but harmless explosions made her excited for what this new year had to offer. No longer would every loud bang be an attack, now it could be something beautiful like these fireworks.

Clint couldn't help but watch Natasha as she gazed at the show. He'd hoped she would like it and not be thrown off by the gunshot-like noises. And based on the wonder on her face, she was enjoying the fireworks immensely. It reminded Clint of little kids watching fireworks, the pure joy and amazement on their faces…

When the fireworks ended, Natasha turned to face Clint, "That was—I—Thank you," she said sincerely.

Clint smiled gently at the woman beside him, "You're welcome. Now, we've got about ten minutes until the ball drops and 2008 arrives. So tell me, what's your New Year's resolution?"

"My what?"

"You know, what you're going to do this year that's different from last year. It can be a goal or a resolution to change something in your life," Clint explained.

Natasha looked over the roof for a moment, thinking as Clint poured her a glass of champagne.

"Mine is to prove you can trust me," Clint said softly.

Her head whipped around as she turned to look at him. His sincerity shocked her and she found herself staring into his gray-blue eyes for a moment. Natasha kept eye contact as she spoke, "Mine is to be better than I was."

Clint nodded, understanding she meant the goodness of her actions, not just her skills, "Now we count down before toasting."

They raised their glasses and began counting with the rest of the city: "Ten."

"Nine."

"Eight."

Clint smiled slightly and tucked a strand of hair behind Natasha's ear.

"Five."

"Four."

Natasha allowed herself to step slightly closer to her partner.

"One!"

They clinked their glasses together before taking sips of the champagne.

"Happy New Year, Natasha."

"Happy New Year… Clint…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love hearing what people think in the comments.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "The Council doesn’t believe he’s a high priority and therefore doesn’t want to expend many resources on this. Fury and I disagree, so we’re sending the two of you in to do the job. Not only do we want you kill Montagne, but we also want you to bring the entire organization down. We need you to get the ledgers he keeps detailing shipments and contacts," Phil said.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to luckyrogue7, Karolina94, and ViviChick for commenting on Chapter Fourteen.
> 
> Chapters may come infrequently this week because I am working on writing my thesis. I will do my best to get one out each morning, but there may be a day or two that I miss.

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - 2001_

The late-September sun beat down on the city, blanketing it in warmth while the breeze hinted at the coming change in seasons. Around the corner from the Army Recruitment Office, a young man with sandy blond hair came to a stop. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his lower back. He pushed away the memories that accompanied the pain and continued on, around the corner. He didn't hesitate as he pushed the door open and stepped into a bright room with several desks arrayed throughout it.

"What can I help you with?" an older woman asked him from her desk next to the door.

"I'm here to enlist," he stated without pause.

The woman appraised him for a moment, "Sergeant MacMillan will be with you shortly. Do you have a name?"

"Clint Barton," the man supplied before taking a seat in one of the waiting chairs. His backpack sat on his lap, filled with some clothes and a few tokens from the circus that he wanted to keep with him. Other than his bow—which he couldn't take with—it was the only thing from his old life he would keep. After what Barney did, he just wanted to move on.

Clint fidgeted with the zipper on the backpack for the long minutes it took for Sergeant MacMillan to finish with the woman in front of him. Finally, the woman got up and left. Clint straightened, knowing that he would be next. But MacMillan kept him waiting by returning to his desk and working on paperwork for several minutes.

"Barton," the man barked after what seemed like an eternity to Clint.

Clint practically jumped out of his chair in his hurry to get to the man. He forced himself to slow down as he approached the desk and took a seat respectfully.

"So you want to enlist?" the sergeant asked.

Clint nodded, "Yes, sir."

"And how old are you?" the man asked, doubting that the kid was legal.

"Eighteen, sir," Clint replied as smoothly as possible. According the new paperwork Beka had procured for him (Driver's License, Social Security Card, Birth Certificate) he was, so it wasn't a complete lie, Clint reasoned.

MacMillan leered at the young man in front of him, "You look like you're barely seventeen… Birthdate!"

"March 22, 1983," Clint answered quickly. He'd practiced saying the wrong year for days so that no one would suspect his lie. No one hesitated when asked when they were born, he couldn't either if he wanted this to work.

"Hmmm…" MacMillan said as he set down his pen. "Why do you want to join the United States Army? Why now? Because you want to kill some terrorists?"

Clint frowned, "I've always wanted to join the Army. A few months ago, I had a — falling out—with my family. It's taken me a while to get to the point where I feel I can join. What happened in New York only served as a reminder that I could and want to protect people. I don't  _want_  to kill anyone, but I will if that's what makes the world a better place."

Several moments of silence passed after Clint finished speaking. He forced himself to remain still and quiet while waiting for MacMillan's response. He stood by what he'd said and didn't want the man to doubt his sincerity.

"Damn kid," MacMillan finally said, tone full of admiration. "I wish every guy who walked through this door thought like you. We could use more of that than all the people who come in here just because they want to kill some terrorists."

Clint didn't say anything.

"Alright," MacMillan continued. "If you're sure about this I'll give you the enlistment forms right now. Know that you're going to be deployed quickly… Fill out the forms and give them to Addie." He gestured to the woman at the other desk as he pulled out the papers.

After handing Clint the forms, MacMillan stood up and offered his hand. Clint took it with a small smile, "Thank you."

"Good luck and God bless," MacMillan said, sincerity bleeding through his every word.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

"Meet Jean-Luc Montagne," Phil said as he slid two files across the table to Clint and Natasha. "He's a weapons smuggler operating out of Paris."

"That is one nasty looking son-of-a-bitch," Clint commented as he opened the file to reveal the target's photo.

A large, black man stared out with eyes reeking of malice and lips curled into a cruel smile. His large frame dwarfed most of those around him and the business suit only added to his threatening appearance. Based on the angle of the picture, it must have been pulled from surveillance photos. Three scars crossed his face: one diagonally over his left cheek, a smaller one coming over the right edge of his chin, and the third slashed hideously through his left eye, turning the pupil white with scar tissue.

"His personality matches," Phil continued. "He's wanted for trafficking millions of dollars in weapons to different militant groups around the world. Reports also link him to several high profile assassinations. When he was eleven he was taken and trained as a child soldier in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He rose through the ranks quickly once he became and adult and then moved on to weapons trafficking after heading to France."

"Nice guy," Natasha muttered.

"SHIELD has had eyes on him for the last six weeks, looking for enough evidence to take him out. Last week, our surveillance team sent us a file with that evidence, including the picture you see in front of you. No one has heard from the team since."

The assassins exchanged a look but didn't comment. While SHIELD surveillance teams weren't trained for close combat as well as the assassins, they knew how to keep from being seen and how to handle themselves if something happened. Odds were, the team was dead.

"Is SHIELD sending us in to make the hit?" Clint asked bluntly.

Phil shook his head, "Yes and no. You're going to be posing as buyers. Romanoff, you will be a German buyer looking to arm a neo-Nazi group looking to overthrow the current government. Clint, you'll be her bodyguard, also German. You won't be able to complete this hit from a distance, Montagne is too well guarded. You'll need to get in close to him and then take him out. Back up on this is going to be minimal, especially since that surveillance team went down. The Council doesn't believe he's a high priority and therefore doesn't want to expend many resources on this. Fury and I disagree, so we're sending the two of you in to do the job. Not only do we want you kill Montagne, but we also want you to bring the entire organization down. We need you to get the ledgers he keeps detailing shipments and contacts."

The assassins nodded, they were each worth at least one SHEILD team, so together they shouldn't have a problem.

Natasha looked up from her file a moment later, "It says that I'm a buyer, looking to become a seller. Do you want me to try to get into his business through that angle?"

"That's the plan," Phil replied. "Clint's role as your bodyguard will allow him to be with you or near to you at all times. Hopefully, Montagne doesn't try to push him out of negotiations."

"I'll make sure he doesn't," Natasha promised.

"We'll leave tomorrow morning and fly to Berlin on a SHIELD jet. You'll have to be in character once we arrive because it's likely Montagne has sent people to watch the woman coming to meet him. You'll then fly to Paris on first-class commercial in order to keep from arousing suspicion. I'll fly in on an earlier flight and get the safe house set up. Accommodation information, IDs, and backstories are all in your files. Any more questions?" Phil said as he finished up the debriefing.

"I think we're good," Clint said with a raised eyebrow at Natasha. "We'll let you know if anything comes up. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, nice and early," Phil answered with a smirk. He knew his agents were not fans of early morning departures, unfortunately, that was the price they paid for arriving at a reasonable hour in their final destination. We'll talk more on the plane."

* * *

_Paris, France—2008_

Klaus Gruber and Vanessa Klein stepped off of their plane at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris and quickly made their way to the hotel they'd booked. After checking into their suite, they swept the room for bugs, dismantling all of the ones they found, unsure if they belonged to SHIELD or Montagne. Only after ensuring they were truly alone, did the masks drop and Klaus and Vanessa became Clint and Natasha once again.

Natasha pushed the candles on the table in front of the couch out of the way and began laying out their files and plans, "Okay, so we're set to meet with Montagne tomorrow at two-thirty at the foot of the Arc de Triomphe."

Clint nodded, "We should probably be there around one-thirty to scope the place out."

"Assuming he's got eyes on us at all times," Natasha continued. "We should spend the day acting like tourists. That way they don't get too suspicious of us. Based on what I know, neither Klaus nor Vanessa have visited Paris before and it would make sense for them to see the sites."

"Sounds good to me. What do you want to do for dinner tonight?" Clint asked.

Natasha thought for a moment before answering, "Room service. We're both a bit jet lagged so it'll be best if we just stay in and not let them see us acting out of character."

Clint picked up the room service menu and the phone, "Since it's on SHIELD's dime, I intend to go all out."

Natasha rolled her eyes but nodded her agreement. His food decisions had never been bad before, so she decided to trust him on this now, despite his desire to be a thorn in the side of SHEILD's accounting department.

Clint and Natasha woke up early, in part because of their jet lag but also because of the adrenaline they were both beginning to feel when it came to the mission. This would actually challenge them and prove fairly exciting. After all, they'd finally be working a dangerous mission with little supervision or support from SHIELD. This is what they were good at. This was why they'd been recruited to SHIELD. And they weren't going to let this guy get away.

"I'm hungry," Clint whined as he waited for Natasha to get out of the bathroom.

Natasha stepped out and rolled her eyes at him, "Then I assume you want us to go get breakfast first?"

He nodded like a small child, "Crêpes please!"

"Do you know any crêpe places around here?"

Clint shook his head, "No, but I'll ask the concierge on our way out! He'll send us somewhere good!"

"Fine," Natasha acquiesced.

The small café they stopped at—on the word of the concierge—proved as good as they'd expected. After eating, they both ordered small coffees to-go and wandered out, decided they'd head to Notre Dame Cathedral, having figured out a fairly direct route that ended with them at the Arc de Triomphe.

They meandered through the city, doing their best to just look like two friends out for a stroll, making sure that any tail Montagne had set on them could see that Vanessa was clearly the one in charge. It wouldn't do for them to think that the dynamic between Vanessa and Klaus was anything other than that of an employer and a bodyguard.

Before they reached the place to cross over to L'Île de la Cité, Natasha found herself drawn over to the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. Clint followed her inside with an amused smile, of course she would find a bookstore on their day out sightseeing. He'd just have to make sure she didn't give them away by buying something that Vanessa wouldn't.

Natasha wandered among the narrow aisles for a while, keeping herself reserved and not allowing anyone to see the peace she felt in the bookstore. She made a mental note to stop by before they left the city. And to visit every time she found herself back in Paris. As they walked outside of the store, blinking in the sunlight, Natasha turned to Clint and murmured to him, "Remind me to come back here."

Clint nodded and followed her away from the store and towards the bridge that would take them over to Notre Dame.

The cathedral soared over them as they approached it. It dominated the space around it. The two assassins walked closer, pausing at Point Zéro to make it seem that they were just simple tourists, passing through the city and wanting to make sure they did everything they could.

Inside, Natasha found herself drawn forward to the altar. She knew that tourists didn't often approach the altar, and Vanessa had probably been raised Protestant. But the beautiful Catholic imagery called to her and reminded her of her early childhood in the Russian Orthodox Church. Perhaps Vanessa could be pious and feel the need to respect any religious site she visited.

The two continued their exploration of the building a few moments later. They stood in the line to climb the towers briefly before being allowed to ascend the steep, uneven stairs. Outside on one of the balconies, Natasha turned to Clint and muttered, "The guy in the blue hoodie has been following us since the bookstore."

Clint nodded as he identified the man and led the way back down the building. They continued their journey and found themselves standing outside of the Louvre.

"Shall we?" Clint asked, gesturing for her to lead the way.

They entered the museum and killed a couple of hours just wandering around, keeping their attention on the paintings while surreptitiously studying their tail who was still following them.

When they decided to stop and get some lunch, the man in the blue hoodie disappeared. Natasha realized that he must be going to report to Montagne about their movements. She made sure to address Clint as Klaus during the meal and to speak in German about their fake associates. Clint quickly spotted the new tail once they stood up from lunch, this time a young woman who could have been Montagne's daughter with her similar facial structure and tall stature.

"Only two hours until we want to be at the meet, should we head to the Eiffel Tower and then to the Arc de Triomphe?" Clint asked.

Natasha nodded and they descended into the métro system.

Natasha leaned casually against the fence around the Arc de Triomphe as her eyes scanned the crowds for Montagne or whomever he had sent to meet them. Clint stood nearby, his eyes wary and body tense, playing the role of bodyguard perfectly.

"Bonjour," a smooth voice commented from behind Natasha.

She spun to face the man with a half smile on her face, "Bonjour, Monsieur Montagne. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer."  _(Hello Mr. Montagne. It's a pleasure to meet you.)_

"Et vous Madame Klein," Montagne replied with a pointed look at Clint who had stepped closer.  _(And you Ms. Klein.)_

"Ah, permettez-moi de vous presenter mon…associé, Klaus Gruber," Natasha said with a sardonic smile.  _(Allow me to introduce my…associate, Klaus Gruber.)_

The men shook hands with slightly threatening looks, trying to gauge the other.

"Venez," Montagne commanded as he moved away from the arch.  _(Come.)_

They followed warily but quickly, knowing that they needed to appear eager in order to get inside Montagne's organization.

The smuggler led the way over to a café across the street from the arch. He nodded once at the barista working the counter and led the assassins to a booth in the back. Neither Clint nor Natasha failed to notice the way the tables around them remained empty while a perimeter of guards filled in the next area, keeping anyone from trying to approach the trio.

"Would you like something to drink?" Montagne asked, switching to English with a smile when a young waitress approached.

Natasha smiled and ordered herself a latté while Clint chose to stick to just a plain black coffee.

After the waitress had delivered their drinks, Montagne looked up, "Now, to business. I understand that you want to order some of my product. Tell me whom you'll be supplying. My operation is very picky about whom we support."

"It's a neo-Nazi group based in Berlin," Natasha replied with an easy smile, her English tinged with a German accent. "Honestly, we don't expect much from them, but they asked us to procure some items and we heard you have them."

"Now why would I bring my organization into this if they're doomed to fail?" Montagne asked.

Natasha shrugged, "Honestly, supplying them was merely the pretext for this meeting. I'd like to fulfill my end of the bargain and procure them the items they require, but I had more in mind when I contacted you."

"I'm listening…"

"I'd like to get in on your organization. I want to go from simply being a buyer and become one of your suppliers."

Montagne raised one eyebrow in interest. It took a few moments of silence before he spoke, "You are quite blunt."

Natasha nodded, hoping her choice hadn't just blown their chances. But if she'd read Montagne right—and she nearly always read people correctly—he would appreciate the blunt approach over anything else she said or did.

A deep chuckle emerged from Montagne's throat as he allowed himself to grin and laugh, "Good." With a glance at his watch he stood, "Unfortunately, we are out of time for this meeting. I will contact you and we will speak again, soon. You fascinate me Madame Klein."

Natasha stood and held out her hand, flashing Montagne a charming smile, "Please, call me Vanessa."

"Au revoir, Vanessa," Montagne said as he kissed her hand with a smirk.

Clint stood beside Natasha as they watched Montagne and his men file out of the café, leaving them alone.

"Scumbag," Clint muttered under his breath.

Natasha shot him a glare before leading the way out and back towards their hotel.

* * *

Natasha and Clint stayed close to their hotel the next day, hoping that Montagne would make contact quickly. They wandered the area around and took time to make sure they had their next move planned out. Montagne finally contacted them around ten that night, inviting them to join him at a club he frequented.

Natasha agreed rapidly before hanging up and turning to face Clint, "I hope you brought something to go clubbing in, Barton."

Clint's eyes widened and he shook his head, "I don't do clubs. They're loud, dark, and crowded. Makes it very hard to work."

"You're just going to have to suck it up," she told him smugly, taking pleasure in dragging him out of his comfort zone. "Because we're going. Now, we need to get changed and head over to the club. We don't want to keep Montagne waiting."

She pulled a dress and a makeup bag out of the closet and moved into the bathroom, trying not to smirk at the irritated mutterings of her partner.

Twenty minutes later, the assassins walked outside of the hotel and caught a cab. Traveling through Paris at night gave both of them a chance to truly appreciate the city. It gleamed under the cloudy night sky and thrummed with activity as people wandered the streets, looking for something to do, unaware of the assassins in their midst.

"Do we have a plan for tonight?" Clint whispered to Natasha as they drew nearer to the club.

She shrugged in response, "Get close to Montagne and get him to trust us. Nothing too elaborate, we don't want him to get suspicious of our intentions. Oh, and Barton, try to have some fun. People will be able to tell if you hate everything about tonight."

"I'll do my best. Although Klaus Gruber isn't really the 'fun' type, especially not when he's got to keep an eye on his boss in the middle of a busy club. So, it'll make sense if I'm a bit wary and peeved," he argued.

Natasha rolled her eyes but didn't refute his statement. Vanessa wasn't that into clubbing either, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to let herself enjoy this evening a bit.

The taxi dropped them off around the corner from the club, unable to pull up right in front of it. Clint paid the driver and they headed into the building with sure steps, unwilling to stand outside in the freezing air for long.

Inside the club, the lighting was dim, just as Clint had predicted. A red glow permeated and the flashing lights from the dance floor panned across the club, blinding those who looked directly at them, adding to the difficult visibility. Natasha handed her coat the attendant without sparing the young man a glance, Clint did the same but studied him carefully for a moment to ensure he wasn't a threat. The kid looked like he was barely out of high school to Clint, though that's how old his partner was and she was fucking deadly.

He followed Natasha as she wound her way around the edge of the dance floor, headed to the more private booths in the back. Clint assumed that Montagne had given Natasha some directions since she seemed to know where she was going. His suspicions proved true when they arrived at a private booth set back from the others with Montagne relaxing in it. Natasha flashed a smile at the bouncer and slid past him, into the booth next to Montagne.

"Bonjour," Natasha purred as she slid up close to Montagne. "Comment allez-vous?" ( _Hello, how are you?_ )

"Bonjour, mes amis," Montagne greeted them with a booming voice. The empty drink glass in front of him may have contributed to the man's energy. "Je suis parfait."  _(Hello, my friends, I am perfect.)_

A scantily clad waitress appeared at the table with a fresh drink for Montagne. She turned to Clint and Natasha after giving Montagne a sultry smile, "Voudriez-vous quelques boissons?"  _(Would you like some drinks?)_

"Scotch," Clint ordered gruffly.

Natasha chose to give the woman a mocking smile, "Vodka."

The woman scurried away, looking somewhat cowed after her interaction with Natasha.

"Monsieur Montagne," Natasha turned to him. "Votre boîte de nuit est très amusante!"  _(Mr. Montagne, your club is very fun!)_

A feral smile spread across his face, "Merci. J'adore cette boîte. Il y a beaucoup d'énergie ici."  _(Thank you. I adore this club. There's a lot of energy here.)_

Natasha fought back a shiver as his words rushed over her. She'd known men like this, the ones who thrived off the energy of others, who loved watching the world as it passed them. They were never easily beaten, purely because they were so good at watching others. Montagne craved power she already knew; she just hadn't realized he was so desperate for it… Making a mental note to talk to Clint about her thought later, she slid closer to Montagne and turned to watch the dance floor as if she was actually interested in what the people were doing out there.ˇ She took the moment to focus on identifying some of Montagne's other associates.

After a few minutes, the drinks arrived back at the table and Natasha sipped on her vodka delicately. No need to drink too much this early in the evening. For all she knew, the man would keep them here until the wee hours of the night.

"Now," Montagne said suddenly in English. "I wanted to speak to you about your request tonight. I have heard about you, Vanessa. You are making waves over in Germany and I believe I could use your… assets. How do you feel about traveling outside of Europe on business for me?"

"I'd be happy to help in any way I can," she replied after a moment, trying not to sound too eager. "Of course, my expertise is based mostly in Europe, but if you needed me elsewhere, I would go."

Montagne's lips curled into a dark smile, making his teeth flash abnormally white against his dark skin, "Good. Then I would like you to join me for now, call it a probationary period to make sure we are able to work together. Does that work for you?"

"Of course," she demurred. "I'd be happy to prove my worth."

"I shall contact you tomorrow," Montagne said as he stood from the booth, prompting Clint and Natasha to stand with him. "We will meet again and discuss business."

Natasha allowed him to grab her shoulders and kiss both cheeks before she and Clint walked away from the booth, recognizing the dismissal in his words.

Natasha and Clint returned to their hotel in silence, not trusting the driver Montagne's man had set them up with to keep their secrets. Once upstairs, they checked again for bugs, knowing it would have been the perfect opportunity for Montagne to try to get eyes or ears on the place. They found nothing, but Natasha remained paranoid after observing his behavior tonight.

"Montagne is a megalomaniac," Natasha announced after they'd changed out of their clubbing outfits. "Did you see the way he was behaving tonight? He couldn't keep his eyes off of the people at the club, and he mentioned how much he enjoyed their energy."

"That doesn't say megalomania to me," Clint refuted her. "That says more evil-energy-sucking-monster than anything."

She rolled her eyes, "Clearly you haven't spent as much time with megalomaniac men as I have. Trust me, this man craves power and loves his own power more than anything. If he thinks we're trying to take any power away from him, we're dead."

"So, we don't let him think that," Clint replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"It won't be that easy. He's going to be incredibly wary and paranoid with his close associates. We're practically strangers and if we aren't giving him more power than he won't be happy," Natasha shot back. "Trust me. I've dealt with enough people like this to know that this just got ten times more difficult and dangerous."

Clint frowned when he recognized the sincerity in her voice, "Okay, what do we do?"

Natasha took a deep breath and pushed her hand through her hair, "We need to make sure everything we do shows him we support him. That means no quips, no questions, nothing. We have to be perfect. And we may have to make a grand gesture, like cutting ties with past affiliations or swearing allegiance to him."

"Swearing allegiance? Seriously?"

"I've seen men like him demand stranger things."

Clint let out a heavy breath and pulled out his phone, "I'm going to call Phil and brief him. We need to let him know that we're in. You want me to tell him about the megalomania thing I assume?"

Natasha nodded and headed into the bathroom to shower, she trusted her partner to report all relevant information to their handler. And if he didn't, well he'd be the one she punished first for the damage it did to the mission.

Clint smiled slightly when his handler answered the phone, "It's Clint. I've got some information for you."

"How did the meet go yesterday?" Phil began with. He had already read the written reports, but it didn't hurt to hear the story from Clint's point of view.

"Montagne liked us and seemed genuinely interested in Romanoff's proposal. The man is cautious, he had people tailing us for most of the day," Clint reported. "He said he'd contact us to talk again, so we spent all day hanging out here, waiting for the call, as you know."

"Then he called," Phil continued.

"He called and invited us to a nightclub he frequents," Clint sighed. He really hated going to clubs… "We changed and headed straight to the club to make sure we remained in his good graces. Montagne told Natasha that he'd considered her proposal and decided to bring us into the organization on a trial basis. He wants to make sure it'll be a good fit for everyone involved. I get the feeling he won't let us walk away if it isn't though…"

"That's good. You've make rapid progress with this mission, maybe we'll even get you out of there earlier than hoped."

"Yeah, there's a bit more…"

"What happened?" Phil demanded, voice sharp.

"Romanoff pegged the guy as a megalomaniac. She's worried that we risk him snapping at any moment."

Phil's pregnant pause told Clint more than his words, "That is worrying. What makes her say that?"

"The way he talked about the 'energy' at the club tonight. And how he likes to keep us waiting for him to contact us," Clint explained, realizing that his partner may be right about the man.

"Based on what we know of him plus what Romanoff has observed, I'd say she's right," Phil admitted. "You'll want to take extra care with this guy, Clint."

"Why? So what if the guy's a power-hungry madman?"

Phil sighed, "You aren't used to working so up close like this. Megalomaniacs are dangerous because they're hard to predict. They'll do things suddenly, and often foolishly, because they fear an assault on their power or they think they'll gain something from it. We already knew about Montagne's ruthlessness, imagine how bad he'd be if he though you were trying to take his power away?"

"I guess that could be a problem," Clint allowed after a moment of thought. He realized that he had been thinking as a distance operator still. "So we'll be careful, keep an eye on him. It'll be fine."

"Good, keep me posted on any developments. I'd rather have some warning if something goes wrong rather than be stuck trying to keep up and get you two out," Phil demanded.

"I'll do my best."

"Is Romanoff there?"

"She's in the shower, why?"

"I don't want to make you talk about her if she's in the room. How are things going with her?" Phil asked as nonchalantly as possible.

Clint rolled his eyes, "Are you still worried she's going to betray us?"

He could practically see Phil's shrug.

"It's not that so much anymore," Phil said cautiously. "I just don't trust her to take care of you. For all I know this is going to horribly wrong and she'll ditch you to save herself."

"She didn't leave me in Yellowstone, why would she leave now?" Clint asked hotly. He didn't like that his handler couldn't seem to understand that this woman wasn't a major threat to them.

"I don't know Clint," Phil said in exasperation. He hated having this conversation with his agent, over and over again. "I just worry about you and I don't trust her to back you up like I would."

"Give it time," Clint muttered. "I promise I'll be careful Phil. I'm not going anywhere, and Romanoff won't let me die. She likes me."

At that moment Natasha emerged from the bathroom and whipped her towel at Clint viciously, "I do not like you, Barton."

Clint rubbed at the spot on his leg she'd smacked with the towel, "Well now she's just being mean. Listen, Phil, I think we're going to get some sleep. We'll keep you posted if anything new develops, but you don't need to worry too much, we'll be okay."

Natasha was drying her hair when Clint put the phone away and turned to face her.

"What did he say?" she demanded.

"Well he agrees with you about the megalomania thing," Clint admitted. The pointed his finger at her suddenly, "And don't you give me that self-satisfied smirk of yours just because you were right."

Natasha allowed a hint of a smirk to show and nodded condescendingly in acquiescence, "Anything else?"

"Yeah, he managed to get me to realize that Montagne could actually turn out to be dangerous. Phil wants us to keep reporting in frequently. He doesn't want anything to slip through, no matter how trivial it seems."

Natasha nodded. She'd had no intention of letting things slip past them. Having a team that would potentially back her up should anything go wrong had become a source of comfort, even if she still didn't trust them to really have her back.

"We should go to bed," Clint said as he moved towards his room in the suite. "No idea how early Montagne is going to call or how much work he's going to make us do tomorrow."

"We can strategize in the morning," Natasha said as she moved towards her own room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun revising this chapter because I wrote it before I went to France, so it was great to rewrite their sightseeing after I spent days wandering around Paris :) Let me know what you think!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Clint spit out a glob of blood and rolled his neck. When he spoke, all traces of a German accent were gone, “Alright, fine we’re not Vanessa and Klaus. Is that what you wanted to here?”
> 
> A grin spread across Montagne’s face, “It’s a start. American. Who do you work for? The CIA? Interpol?”
> 
> Natasha snorted, “Like we would work for those do-gooders."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS TORTURE SCENES OF A CHILD AND ADULTS. (Please note, this scene is not as bad as later ones in the story, but I figured I should give a warning.)
> 
> Thank you Karolina94 and Rachel<3 for reviewing the last chapter.
> 
> Chapters may come infrequently this week because I am working on writing my thesis. I will do my best to get one out each morning, but there may be a day or two that I miss. I should be able to get one out tomorrow since I'm almost done with the thesis.

 

_Red Room, Unknown Location—1998_

Natalia sat in the chair, ignoring her desire to move around. She knew that they were watching her and would punish her should she fail to behave appropriately. Her counter-interrogation training so far had consisted of learning not to give away any information through body language or subconscious words. And of course, she'd learned how to keep quiet during a beating too. Her broken arm had been displayed proudly for a week to the other girls because she hadn't given in.

She didn't know what they were going to do to her today. She just knew that making her wait was definitely part of it. Subjects were easier to manipulate if forced to wait for an extended period of time. It made them nervous and gave them time to think about everything they were trying to hide. It brought things closer to the surface. Natalia had learned that from her interrogation training.

The teacher had mentioned that it was time for them to start doing more. Based on her knowledge of torture tactics, Natalia guessed they'd get into something like caning, water boarding, or electroshock. She wasn't sure which one sounded more difficult to hold up under.

The door opened and Natalia swept her gaze over the man that entered. He was of average height, balding, and pot-bellied. He didn't look like much but she doubted they would have sent him in if he couldn't hold his own against her.

He carried a large box towards her and set it on the ground next to her feet. Natalia watched with mild curiosity as he began unboxing what appeared to be a large battery attached to a switchboard. Several cords jutted out from the switchboard and were connected to small metal clamps.

She realized what they would be teaching her first: electroshock.

Forcing herself to stay calm, Natalia observed the man again. She had never seen him before, not even around base. He was humming as he went about making sure everything was connected.

His gleeful smile was the only warning she had before he began attaching wires to her.

The clamps bit ferociously into her skin, making the young girl want to tense up. She kept herself relaxed, refusing to give any sign of discomfort. It would be seen as a weakness, and she couldn't afford to be weak. Being weak meant being deemed unfit for the program.

"Who are you?" the man asked after attaching all of the cords.

Natalia remained silent. She would not give them satisfaction of breaking her.

"You won't answer, that's fine," the man smirked and flipped a switch on the panel.

She didn't even flinch as a small electrical current worked its way through her body. It felt no worse that a bad static shock.

"Who are you?"

A moment passed in which she was expected to answer. The man pushed a button before flipping the switch again.

This time, the shock actually hurt a bit.

"If you won't give me your name, at least tell me who you're working for."

The electricity caused Natalia to twitch when she refused to answer, all of her muscles seized for a moment. She hid her discomfort with the idea of not being able to control her own muscles.

"I said, who are you working for?" the man practically roared this time.

Natalia remained silent for a beat before smirking. It was time to throw in a few questions of her own she decided, "Who do you think?"

She gasped in pain as the current ran through her body, lasting longer than any of the other ones. When it stopped, she forced her tense muscles to relax, knowing that it would only make the next wave hurt more.

"I am asking the questions!"

Another shock. Smaller. A reminder.

"Tell me who you are working for?"

Natalia simply smirked, refusing to answer.

He jabbed at the button with renewed vigor before turning to watch the girl. He flipped the switch.

A piercing scream split the silence in the room as Natalia convulsed in the chair. She had never felt something quite so painful in her life. Fire seemed to have engulfed her entire body and she couldn't begin to control the quick, painful spasms that flowed from her legs to her arms and bag. She gasped for air, trying to remember how to breathe. After what seemed like an eternity it stopped.

The man was grinning widely at her as she returned to awareness.

"Let's see if this will loosen your tongue," he chortled.

Natalia clenched her jaw, hoping to keep the scream in.

A jolt of electricity ripped through her body leaving no room for her thoughts. She wanted to tell the man everything, just to make it stop. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Whimpers escaped through clamped lips. Fingers scratched at the edge of the chair for something to hold onto.

When the pain had finally gone, she found that she and the man were no longer alone in the room. Ivan stood over her, arms folded, eyes searching. He nodded once, "Well done. Next time you will be able to withstand more."

The man carelessly ripped the clamps from her skin, leaving deep grooves and cuts with the burn marks. Natalia practically fell out of the chair, resting on her hands and knees. The pain made her dizzy, nauseated. She opened her mouth and vomited on the floor, unable to keep her meager breakfast down.

As soon as she had emptied her stomach, she stood on shaky legs and wiped her mouth.  _Must not be weak_ , she chanted in her head.

* * *

_Montagne's Facility, Paris, France—2008_

Jean-Luc Montagne was sitting in his office, watching security cameras around his headquarters, when he noticed something was off. Vanessa Klein was wandering the halls without her bodyguard. This wouldn't seem too strange to most people. But Montagne was not most people. As a rule, he didn't trust anyone and when he saw the Germans separate from each other, it made him wonder.

Montagne switched to a search window and typed in "Klaus Gruber." A mugshot-esque photo popped up on the screen, along with all of the information Montagne had on Gruber.

Moving the mouse across the screen, Montagne clicked on "Locate." He leaned back in his seat and watched as the facial recognition software used the facility's cameras to find the man.

"Ah, Monsieur Gruber, vous êtes un mauvais homme," Montagne chuckled darkly as he picked up his radio.  _(Ah, Mr. Gruber, you are a bad man.)_

After barking at his security team in rapid French, Montagne rose from his desk and headed out the door.

Tension rolled through Natasha's body when five members of Montagne's security team appeared in the hallway (three behind and two in front). She debated attacking them and making a run for it, but made herself stay. She didn't know if anything was actually wrong. She smiled at the men, "Bonjour, Messieurs."  _(Hello, gentlemen.)_

"Madame Klein, vous devez nous accompagner," one of the men in front said, taking a menacing step forward.  _(Ms. Klein, you must accompany us.)_

Natasha plastered a polite smile on her face, instincts telling her to flee. But she forced herself to remain. She couldn't do anything until she learned if Barton had succeeded, "D'accord, mais pourquoi?"  _(Of course, but why?)_

"Monsieur Montagne veut vous voir," the man replied, gripping her bicep and pulling her along.  _(Mr. Montagne wants to see you.)_

The security team escorted Natasha through the facility and to a bank of elevators. After calling one of the cars, three of the men stepped inside, flanking Natasha once she turned to face the door. Two men stood in front of her, backs turned. One selected one of the basement floors, putting his hand on the scanner to gain access. Natasha was mildly curious as to their destination, having never seen the basement before. Montagne said it was just storage and empty rooms. Luckily, the files they needed on the organization were held in one of the secure rooms on the third floor, along with Montagne's office. They had access to that area.

It had taken Montagne three days after telling them they could join to actually allow them into his organization. It took another week for them to track down the files they needed and come up with a plan to get them. Now, Clint was working to get the documents to SHIELD while Natasha had been headed to Montagne's office to distract him. Unfortunately, she'd been waylaid by another member of the organization who wanted to set up a coffee date to pick her brains. Now, she wasn't sure what Montagne's plan was, but it seemed like he knew something was up.

When the elevator came to a stop, the men escorted Natasha out and into a foreboding hall of gray concrete. Steel doors, all alike except for the numbers stenciled on them, lined the hall and made Natasha fight back a shiver as she remembered her childhood, spent living in a building like this.

Stopping outside of S436, the lead security guard placed his hand on the scanner and keyed into the room.

Montagne's grinning visage greeted Natasha as she stepped inside. He stood beside a table littered with papers and some objects wrapped in cloth that Natasha guessed were for torture. Internally, her mask slid into place. She would not break in front of this weak man, she'd withstood more from her training.

Responding to a snap from Montagne, to of the security guards began to frisk Natasha, removing her phone, hotel key, ID, credit card, and two knives they found. They placed them on the table in front of their boss and stepped out of the room.

"Asseyez-vous!" Montagne pointed at one of the chairs in the room. "Monsieur Gruber sera ici bientôt."  _(Sit down. Mr. Gruber will be here shortly.)_

"Pourquoi je suis ici?" Natasha asked curiously, taking her seat. She planned to cling to Vanessa for as long as possible.  _(Why am I here?)_

"Because I do not think you are Vanessa Klein," Montagne replied conversationally as he picked up her phone and flipped it open, searching through it for some evidence of her transgressions.

The door opened and Clint was escorted inside with his own contingent of guards, two of whom stayed in the room while the others left. They searched Clint and divested him of his personal items before forcing him into the chair.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the bruise forming on Clint's jaw. He shrugged slightly in response as he took a seat.

"Now that you are both here, we can begin," Montagne said.

When Natasha sent Clint a small frown, trusting he'd understand the question in it, he nodded in response. He'd been successful. Now they just had to wait for the official kill order from the Council.

"Now this can go one of two ways," the man continued, walking around the table and flipping back the cloth to reveal the torture implements Natasha had expected. "You answer my questions and I kill you quickly. Or you can resist and I will be forced to use these on you. So, let's begin. Who are you working for?"

Clint glanced once at Natasha before responding in a thick German accent, "I work for Vanessa. And she works for you. So I guess I work for you."

"I don't believe you," Montagne snarled. "Who sent you?"

"The Neo-Nazi group in Germany. They wanted weapons and I wanted to get farther into the game," Natasha replied.

"Who are you?"

"Vanessa Klein. And that is Klaus Gruber, my associate and bodyguard," Natasha replied again, keeping her tone innocent and confused. "We haven't done anything wrong."

"Why did we find him snooping around in a locked room that neither of you have access to?" Montagne demanded.

"I was lost," Clint defended. "I was looking for something to tell me where I was."

Montagne sighed and shook his head in mock exasperation, "I suppose we will have to play before you give me the answers I seek."

With a gesture from Montagne the two security guards that stayed stepped up. One moved behind Clint and pulled him tightly against the chair. The other cracked his knuckles and leered at Clint.

Natasha had to keep from rolling her eyes at the macho-man posturing. Taking out the goons would be easy, especially since they hadn't tied either of the assassins to their chairs, simply made them sit.

Goon Number One's fist slammed into Clint's jaw where it was already bruised, making his head whip back. Natasha forced her eyes to widen in surprise, as Vanessa would react to something like this.

Clint shook his head to clear it and looked up at the man, "Is that the best you've got?"

Goon Number One growled and hit Clint again, this time in the ribs, making the man double over.

Natasha heard the air leave Clint in a whoosh. Before he'd had a chance to recover, Goon Number Two was pulling him upright while Goon Number One struck again.

The beating continued for several minutes while Montagne looked on.

Finally, he raised a hand to signal a stop.

Natasha caught Clint's eye and nodded towards his torso. He shrugged slightly, trying to look nonchalant. But Natasha noticed the wince hidden behind the shrug. He had cracked, if not broken, ribs from that beating. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to go through too much more before they got out of this.

"Are you ready to talk now?" Montagne asked, fiddling with a wire attached to an electrode.

Both assassins understood the threat behind his fiddling.

Clint cocked his head to the side and looked at Natasha. She nodded once in response and dropped her attempts to be Vanessa. A steely mask descended on her face and she leveled an even, emotionless stare at Goon Number One. He took an involuntary step back.

Clint spit out a glob of blood and rolled his neck. When he spoke, all traces of a German accent were gone, "Alright, fine we're not Vanessa and Klaus. Is that what you wanted to here?"

A grin spread across Montagne's face, "It's a start. American. Who do you work for? The CIA? Interpol?"

Natasha snorted, "Like we would work for those do-gooders. Think about it Montagne, who would want you gone more than them?"

Montagne's eyes widened and he frowned in concentration, trying to think of an answer.

Natasha shrugged in response to Clint's questioning gaze. She was just playing a hunch right now.

"I can think of no one," Montagne finally admitted. "Tell me who you are working for or you will receive far more than a beating."

"Trust me, whatever you can dish out, we've had worse," Natasha scoffed.

"Not like it really matters," Clint interjected, hoping to avoid any more punishment. "We've already sent the files to our employer. I'm sure things will be taken care of soon."

Montagne stiffened and looked at the goons next to him for support. He hesitated for a moment before picking up the machine attached to the electrodes. He moved over to Natasha and gestured for the goons to join him. They held Natasha still while Montagne worked to attach the electrodes to her.

"I do not want to do this," Montagne said. "You simply leave me no other choice. If only you would tell me what I ask."

Natasha glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Clint sat frozen in his seat, unwilling to intervene without Natasha's permission. She tried to send him a reassuring glance and hoped he wouldn't act before it was time. They couldn't afford to mess this up. Electroshock torture was nothing new to Natasha, and judging by the machine Montagne had, this would be nothing compared to the machine she'd been trained on.

"Last chance," Montagne warned as he stood up. The goons stepped a few feet away, one towards Clint and the other behind Natasha.

Montagne shook his head again as he flipped open the cover on the machine and began pushing some of the buttons. After a moment he looked up. Without preamble he flicked the switch on the side of the machine.

A low buzz was the only warning Natasha had before her muscles seized up as the electric current ran through her. The sensation passed a few seconds later and she forced herself to relax her muscles and keep her breathing even. It would only get worse if she tensed up or lost control.

Montagne waited a moment before fiddling with the machine again.

This time, the jolt of electricity lasted longer and was a bit stronger.

Natasha blew out her breath when it was over, trying to keep her muscles from shaking.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Montagne demanded.

The woman remained silent, which sent Montagne back to the machine. He punched furiously at the buttons and turned a spiteful gaze on Natasha as she seized in the chair. Her breathing was uneven as the electricity faded, muscles visibly trembled, dull pain flooded through her body.

Clint twitched in his seat, wanting to get up and do something to help his partner, but he knew that doing so would compromise their mission. They had to play along until they got the go ahead from the Council. He was glad he'd thought to turn his phone on ring after sending the information to Coulson. He just wondered why it was taking so damn long to get the official kill order.

Montagne sent another jolt of electricity through Natasha, making her writhe and gasp in the chair. Her knuckles gripped the edges of the seat as she tried to maintain her control. Her white face showed the strain the electricity was taking on her.

At that moment, a jaunty tune played obnoxiously throughout the room. The buzz of the electroshock machine faded and Natasha was given a brief respite.

"Voyez le portable!" Montagne barked at the man behind Natasha.  _(Look at the phone!)_

He hurried across the room and picked up the phone, "Il dit qu'ils peuvent vous assassiner, Monsieur."  _(It says they can kill you.)_

Montagne's eyes widened and he turned to Clint and Natasha, his voice came out barely more than a whisper, "Assassins."

"Oui," Natasha smirked as she stood from her chair, ripping the electrodes off.

"Finally," Clint muttered. He pushed himself out of his chair and launched a fist at the man nearest to him.

Caught unaware the man stumbled back, unable to regain his balance before Clint was on top of him. Clint kicked out sharply to dislocate the man's knee. He dropped to the ground and Clint snapped his neck efficiently.

Natasha had launched herself across the room in the same moment, drawing out a knife as she went. She dodged the punch the goon sent swinging at her and ducked under his other arm, bringing herself in close against him. With a savage grin, she sliced her knife across his neck, stepping back quickly to avoid getting any blood on herself.

Montagne stood frozen next to the electroshock machine. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and withdrew his radio, "Protégez l'éstablissement!"  _(Secure the building.)_

Alarms began blaring in the hall outside of the room they occupied while the assassins advanced on Montagne.

"I really wish you hadn't done that," Clint said with a sigh. "It's going to make getting out of here a real bitch."

"Who are you working for?" Montagne breathed as Natasha stalked up to him.

"SHIELD," Clint supplied. He nodded at Natasha, "He's all yours. All I got was a beating."

Natasha grinned and drove her knife into Montagne's heart. The man fell backwards over the table behind him, eyes wide in surprise.

Clint searched the dead guards and pulled out their weapons while Natasha retrieved their personal items from the table along with her knife from Montagne. She wiped the blade on his shirt and sheathed the blade, then turned to face Clint.

"Morons didn't carry full clips," he muttered holding out a gun to Natasha.

She nodded and accepted the weapon, "Time to get out of here."

They exited the room carefully, making sure no one saw them leaving the carnage.

Clint pulled the door closed behind them and followed his partner down the hallway and back they way they'd come. As they rounded the final corner before the elevator they found another of Montagne's guards, one of the men who had escorted Natasha down. She launched herself at him, wrapping her thighs around his neck and bringing him to the ground. His spine snapped.

"We need his handprint," Clint muttered as he began dragging the body over to the elevators. "You couldn't wait to kill him until we'd gotten him inside the elevator?"

She shrugged in response and waited for Clint to get inside.

They stepped off in the garage a moment later and wound their way through the parked cars slowly. No reason to give the rest of the organization any advantages over them. They reached a nondescript sedan and Natasha got to work on jimmying the lock open.

Clint stood guard as she slid into the open driver's door and used a knife to pry open the underside of the dash. Once she had stripped the wires and was working on getting a spark, Clint closed the door and slid around to the passenger's side. He was getting in when the car sputtered to life and a shot rang out through the garage.

Natasha looked up in alarm and noticed her partner stumble as he climbed in. She threw the car in reverse and sped down the aisle. The shooter stood bravely at the end, holding his gun aloft and trying to get a clear shot at Natasha's head.

After rolling down the window, Clint's hand popped out. He let off one shot and watched as the man crumpled.

Natasha didn't slow as they approached the body, jerking the wheel as they turned the corner.

Clint winced at the bumps and moved his left hand to cover his right pectoral.

"You're hit," Natasha said.

"I'm fine," Clint mumbled. His shallow breathing and rapidly whitening face showed differently.

"Bullshit," Natasha muttered.

A few minutes later, Clint's eyes were starting to fall shut and his breathing had gotten more labored.

"Romanoff," he said weakly.

Natasha looked over and cursed, yanking the wheel to the let as they peeled across traffic, "You idiot. It hit your lung, didn't it?"

Clint nodded, unable to do anything else.

"Keep pressure on it. I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No—Not hospital," he wheezed.

"I'm not letting you die Barton, and that's what happens if we don't get you to a hospital."

* * *

_Paris, France—2008_

When Clint had fallen unconscious and no longer responded to Natasha's attempts to wake him, she sped up. She barreled through the city, ignoring the angry honks of other drivers, darting in and out of traffic. Natasha racked her brains for her mental map of Paris and tried to find the fastest way to the nearest hospital.

It took her twelve minutes to get from Montagne's facility to the hospital, an impressive feat in Parisian traffic but not fast enough for her liking. The brakes squealed as she slammed to a stop in the emergency-loading zone. Nurses ran out to see what the problem was.

"Il a été blessé à la poitrine," Natasha informed them as she helped lift Clint out of the car.  _(He's been shot in the chest.)_

One of the nurses gave her a strange look but didn't ask questions. They rolled out a gurney and lifted Clint onto it. Another nurse climbed up on the edge to get pulse and blood pressure readings while a third strapped oxygen to Clint's face. The group shouted to each other and to other staff members rapidly, making Natasha's head spin. They passed through a set of double doors marked in bright red letters. One of the orderlies put out a hand to stop Natasha, "Vous ne pouvez pas nous accompagner. Attendez ici. La police voudra parler avec vows."  _(You cannot come with us. Wait here. The police will want to talk to you.)_

Natasha thought quickly, unwilling to leave her partner's side. Her words tumbled out in a loud blurt: "Il est mon mari!"  _(He is my husband.)_

The orderly looked doubtful but sighed and led the way through the doors.

Natasha followed until they reached the observation window for one of the operation rooms. Doctors were already slipping into their scrubs and sterilizing the room. A moment later, Clint was wheeled through the door and placed onto the operating table.

"Attendez ici," the orderly commanded. "Vous ne pouvez pas venir à l'intérieur."  _(Wait here. You cannot come inside.)_

Natasha nodded and moved to stand in front of the window, feeling slightly ill. With the adrenaline of the mission starting to wear off, the pain from the torture was beginning to make itself known. Natasha forced herself to ignore it. She couldn't afford the distraction at the moment.

The doctors moved efficiently to stabilize Clint and began removing the bullet before sewing up the damage. Natasha watched silently, fearing that she may not have gotten Clint here fast enough. She shook her head, it scared her how worried she was about the archer, how much she cared about him.

An hour later the doctors were wrapping up the surgery and preparing to move Clint into the ICU.

A young woman appeared in the room with Natasha and held out a cup of water to her, "Bonjour Madame. Votre mari sera bien. La balle a rebondi d'une côte. Là avec les côtes cassées fait qu'il a été en état de chic."  _(Hello ma'am, your husband will be fine. The bullet bounced off of a rib. That with the broken ribs made him go into shock.)_

Natasha nodded, throat tight in relief. He would be okay.

"Peut-être il y a quelqu'un que vous pouvez téléphoner?" the nurse prompted.  _(Perhaps there is someone you can call?)_

It took a moment for Natasha's brain to catch up and she sucked in a breath. Coulson was going to kill her.

"Oui, merci," Natasha murmured as she pulled out her phone.  _(Yes, thank you.)_

"Votre mari sera dans salle 1285," the nurse said as she left the room with a small smile.  _(Your husband will be in room 1285.)_

Natasha hit send and held her breath as the phone began to ring.

Almost immediately, someone answered, "Coulson."

"It's Romanoff," she began.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "It's been over an hour since you were given the go ahead."

She sighed, "We're at the hospital. Barton got shot."

Coulson's sharp intake of breath hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She should have remembered to call him sooner.

"Where?" he asked.

She gave him directions and the room number, promising to fill him in when he arrived.

Natasha made her way through to hospital and up to the twelfth floor where Barton had been sent. She stepped into the room and took a seat next to he bed, facing the door.

In the twenty-five minutes it took for Coulson to show up, Natasha had come to hate the sterile room with its bright white walls and the incessantly beeping machines. She could barely bring herself to look at Clint's motionless form. His usually healthy, tan skin was pale and he was so still… For some reason, she had some to associate energy and movement with the archer. He was always doing something. Natasha felt responsible for his current predicament. If she'd just gotten the car going sooner this wouldn't have happened…

Her head whipped up so she could fix a piercing gaze on the door when she heard movement out in the hall.

A moment later, Phil Coulson appeared in the door. He paused when he caught sight of Natasha. HIs eyes darted over to Clint before returning to Natasha. His tone was accusatory when he spoke, "How did you get in here?"

"I walked in?" Natasha asked, unsure what he meant.

"They said family only," Phil explained. "I had to say I was his brother."

"Oh," Natasha said. "I told them I was his wife so they'd let me watch the surgery."

Phil could have sworn her cheeks had turned a bit pinker. He sighed and pulled up a chair on the other side of Clint's bed, "Why? You don't care."

Natasha stiffened, "That's the problem. I do care. More than either of us realized…"

Phil frowned slightly, "What did the doctors say?"

"The bullet bounced off a rib and nearly hit his lung. That combined with his already broken ribs sent him into severe shock. He'll be okay. They got the bullet out and fixed the damage."

Phil nodded, "SHIELD has a team cleaning up Montagne's facility. You want to tell me what happened?"

"Not much to tell," Natasha said with a shrug. "Montagne caught Barton going for the files. He dragged us down to the basement and tried to torture information out of us. Barton took a pretty serious beating. Then we got the kill order and took out Montagne. He'd locked down the building so we headed to the garage. I hot-wired the car and as Barton got in, a guard got in a lucky shot. Barton took the guy out as we left."

Phil remained silent for a moment, "Sounds like something that would happen to Clint… He has some pretty terrible luck. Okay, go back to the hotel and your stuff. Grab Barton's too if you can. A SHIELD team will scrub it tomorrow. As soon as he's cleared, we'll move to the nearest SHIELD medical facility."

Natasha hesitated before standing up. She realized there was nothing she could do at the hospital and turned to leave.

"Romanoff," Phil called her back. "I'm not an idiot, Barton wasn't the only one Montagne tried to get information from. I know what the marks on your arms are from."

She glanced down at the electrical burns.

"Do you need medical attention?"

"I'm fine."

Phil's sigh said he didn't believe her, "You're my agent too. I do care about your wellbeing. You sure?"

"I've had worse," Natasha said with a shrug.

"Go get cleaned up," he replied with a wave of his hand.

She took a cab back to the hotel and climbed into a blissfully warm shower. The water relaxed her aching muscles and gave her a chance to recover her equilibrium. When she was done, she was ready to return to the hospital. After throwing their stuff into bags, she caught another taxi and returned. Phil had already worked out their transportation to the SHIELD base outside of Lyon when she walked into Barton's room again.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, Lyon, France—2008_

Natasha had tired of the SHIELD infirmary two hours and twelve minutes into Clint's stay at the Lyon base. There was nothing to do and the blank white walls, antiseptic smell, and constantly whirring machines made it difficult to believe that her partner would be okay. Getting shot in the chest was no laughing matter. Getting shot in the chest after having several ribs broken just made things worse. And Natasha was still shocked that it had missed anything truly vital.

She glanced up from her seat next to Barton's bed and found Phil Coulson's eyes on her. He quickly looked away, but not before she'd noticed. With a sigh Natasha decided that all of the inadequacies of the hospital room paled in comparison to Phil Coulson's distrustful gaze. The man didn't like her, everyone could see that. But that didn't mean she had to spend any time with him outside of work. In fact, she'd never spent so much time alone with the man. Barton had always served as a buffer for them. Now he was the uniting force. Natasha was pretty sure the uneasy truce they'd established would end as soon as Barton woke up.

Phil looked over at her again and sighed, "Have you eaten anything recently? Had some water? Slept?"

"No."

"Are you going to leave this room before he wakes up?"

The hard-eyed stare she leveled at him answered the question for him. No, she wouldn't move until she was certain her partner was fine.

Phil rolled his eyes and debated with himself for a moment. While he didn't trust the assassin alone with Clint, she hadn't tried anything so far. And with Clint out, now was her best opportunity to escape. And she looked like crap. He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. He was hungry too, so he may as well stop by the base's cafeteria and get some food for them.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at her handler as he stood.

"I'm getting some food," Phil threw out in answer to her question. Once outside the room he allowed himself to ponder just how Romanoff managed to be so effective at asking questions with a single facial expression.

When he returned to the room, she hadn't moved, and neither had Clint.

"Here," Phil said gruffly, holding out a tray with a sandwich, apple, brownie, and water bottle on it. "Make sure you drink all of that water."

Natasha took it after a second of hesitation, "Thank you."

Phil nodded and took his seat again, munching on a bag of chips he'd brought for himself.

After Natasha had eaten, she felt better. Not that she'd ever admit that in front of Phil Coulson. Instead she settled back into her seat and continued waiting for Clint to wake up. The doctors had said it might take several hours, depending on how quickly his body managed to neutralize the sedative.

When sleep began to tug at her consciousness, Natasha allowed herself to drift off. The pain from the electrocution combined with the stress of the last several hours had taken a toll on her.

Clint jerked into wakefulness, trying to figure out where he was through the drug induced haze.

"Clint."

He frowned, working to recognize who knew his name.

"Clint."

Phil's voice penetrated Clint's brain and he realized that things couldn't be too bad if his handler was here. Clint forced his eyes open and craned to look at Phil.

"You're going to be okay," Phil said reassuringly.

"What happened?" Clint slurred.

Phil frowned, worried that his agent was still so disoriented, "You got shot."

Clint frowned in response, straining to remember. He hated how the drugs made his mind slow. Recognition lit his eyes and he tried to sit up.

"Easy," Phil scolded, pushing Clint back down. "You've got broken ribs and a bullet wound to the chest."

"Romanoff?" Clint asked desperately.

Phil pointed across from him to the woman sleeping in the chair next to his bed, "Has barely left your side. She's fine."

"Did she see a doctor?" Clint asked.

Phil shook his head, "She said she's fine."

"Phil," Clint breathed. "Did she tell you?"

"That you got the shit beat out of you and then shot? Yeah. And I deduced from the electrical burns on her arms that things weren't a cakewalk for her. She's a big girl and can make her own medical decisions."

Clint nodded in resignation, "You sure she's okay?"

"She hasn't acted any differently, other than staying here. I didn't think Romanoff was the waiting-by-the-bed type," Phil replied. "I'm going to go get your doctor. See if we can get out of here and back to New York soon."

Clint nodded, "I'll be here."

"Good."

Clint watched Natasha sleep for a few moments before he saw her start to move. She woke suddenly, eyes opening and scanning the room. When she caught sight of his alertness, she smiled slightly before becoming emotionless once more.

"Hey," Clint said.

"Hey," she said back.

"Thanks for ignoring me and taking me to the hospital," Clint offered.

Natasha nodded, "You're welcome. How are you feeling?"

Clint thought for a moment before answering: "Fuzzy."

"Fuzzy?" she repeated mockingly.

"Yeah, from the pain meds. I hate drugs, they make my head all fuzzy. Otherwise I feel fine."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "You're an idiot."

"And you stayed. Admit it, Romanoff, you care."

The conversation had taken a sudden turn to more serious topics.

Instead of denying it, Natasha simply shrugged, "I don't want to break in a new partner."

Clint's wide grin had her lips tugging into an answering smile, "I knew it. So now that we're friends…"

"No one said anything about friends, Barton," she warned. But the smile on her face made it hard to take her seriously.

"You're right, you said partner, which means we're more than friends."

The doctor walked in before Natasha could respond.

"Agent Coulson says you'd like to get out of here," he commented to Barton.

Clint nodded, "As soon as possible please."

The doctor nodded, "Let me take a look at things and we'll see about getting you transferred. Considering the location of the bullet, you got pretty lucky that it didn't hit anything vital.

Natasha excused herself from the room and wandered through the halls until she received word that they were leaving. She wanted to gather herself before they returned to New York. It wouldn't do for Barton to start thinking that they were going to have frequent heart to hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “Not until we talk,” Clint said with steadfast determination. “What’s bothering you?”
> 
> She shrugged, “Being back in Russia is…different. I didn’t expect it to feel so strange. A part of me feels like I’ve come home, but another part of me hates it here. Very little of my life in Russia was pleasant.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Karolina94 for the comment last chapter!

_Volgograd, Russia - 2001_

The red haired girl stumbled down the street in nothing more than a small nightdress. She was cold. Shivering, teeth chattering, lips turning blue kind of cold. If she'd had to guess at the temperature she would have said well below zero. From a distance, no one would notice anything strange about this girl—other than her lack of shoes and questionable clothing choice for the weather.

But Natalia was no ordinary girl. Blood dripped to the ground from her hands. She clutched a small knife, also streaked in blood. The hand holding the knife shook, not from cold, but from the tight grip she had on the small weapon.

Natalia flinched as she looked around the streets. Her eyes seemed to brighten and her breathing evened out. She hadn't even realized she'd been close to hyperventilating before… Then she felt the cold seeping through her skin, the wind biting into her bones. With a small cry of anguish, Natalia collapsed on the ground with tears leaking from her eyes. She forced herself to take deep breaths to regain her composure. She couldn't be weak. Not right now. Not ever. She pushed herself to her feet and continued her trek towards the place she was to meet her handler.

Twenty minutes later, Natalia raised her chin stubbornly and marched into the apartment her handler was staying in.

The man looked at her in shock, surprised she had shown up.

"Делается это?" he demanded.  _(Is it done?)_

"Да," Natalia replied.  _(Yes.)_

The man's lips curled into a cruel smile and he switched to English, "And did you do as instructed?"

Natalia swallowed and nodded, "I slit his throat just as you said to. He's dead."

"Good," the man practically purred. "You've done very well Natalia. Clean yourself and we shall leave. Ivan will want to speak with you."

The girl slipped into the bathroom and went to work scrubbing all of the blood off of her hands. She looked in the mirror and nearly broke, seeing the splatters of blood on her face from when she'd first slit the man's jugular, before his heart had stopped beating. She redoubled her efforts to be clean before changing into the black pants and shirt she'd been given.

While Natalia washed, the man wasted no time. He packed up his things and moved to the door.

They departed the city immediately and drove for a few hours before they reached the Red Room.

Natalia slid out of her seat and stepped inside the main building without glancing at the man. She led the way to Ivan's office, knowing he would meet them there.

"Ah, Natalia," Ivan crooned as she entered. "I knew you would make me proud."

Natalia didn't reply.

Ivan sent a pointed glance at the man, whom quickly left the room, before he spoke again, "Tell me, how did it feel?"

"I don't understand, sir," Natalia said.

Ivan's lips curled, "How did it feel to kill him? Did you enjoy it? Hate it?"

Natalia thought for a moment before replying, "I felt nothing but pride in my skills."

Ivan's grin widened, "Excellent. I've been thinking, Natalia, perhaps it's time for you to have a new name. Your codename is already determined: the Black Widow. But you, you must want something different than the child's name you've grown up with. After all, you aren't that child anymore…"

Natalia remained quiet, unsure what he wanted her to say. There was a part of her that wanted to refuse and keep her name, the only piece left from before the Red Room. But he was right, the girl they'd brought to the Red Room no longer existed. Natalia was dead already. Why not pick something different?

"What name would you like?" he asked.

"Natasha," Natalia said after a moment of thought. It was close enough to her name that she wouldn't forget, but different enough to remind her that she was no longer the same girl she once was. "Natasha Romanoff. I think I'll keep my middle name to remind me of where I came from."

Ivan beamed, "Excellent. Well Natasha, I'll let you get some sleep. Congratulations on your mission being a success."

She turned and left the room, allowing her emotions to show only once she was back in her room. Natalia was dead. She'd been dying for a long time, but tonight Natasha had killed her, along with Stephan Vronsky. She would never forget.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

"—No, Barton," Sanders continued. "You cannot use your bow. I will keep you banned from the range if you try. You still have a bullet hole in your chest!"

Natasha grinned evilly at her partner from the corner.

"But—"

"No. I don't care what you have to say, I'm your doctor and I say no. It's only been two weeks."

"I'm healing remarkably well," Clint shot back. "Isn't that what you said?"

Sanders sighed, "Yes. That doesn't mean you can go back to working out everyday and drawing your bow everyday."

"If I don't practice I'll get rusty," Clint whined.

Sanders sent him a disbelieving look, "You really think that's going to sway me. If you're rusty you'll have to stay here and rest a bit more. Broken ribs and bullet wounds are two things that make me restrict you on shooting. You ended up with both, so don't expect to be back in the range for a while."

Clint pouted, thinking furiously to find a way to contradict the doctor.

A loud chime made both of the men look over at Natasha. She pulled out her phone and frowned, "Coulson wants us in Briefing Room Eight in ten minutes."

"Why?" Clint asked.

She shrugged, "I wish I knew. It can't be a mission… You're still on medical leave."

"And he's going to stay there," Sanders threatened from his desk.

Clint threw another glare at the man and stood to follow Natasha out. They wound their way through the halls of SHIELD, making many of the agents scramble to get out of their way. After people heard about what went down on their mission in Paris, they tended to give the assassins even more space.

When they entered the briefing room, they slid into seats across from each other, waiting for their handler to appear.

"Do you think—" Clint began.

"No."

"You don't think?" he gasped in mock horror.

"No, I don't think that anything you say or do will change Sanders' mind. And I won't help you get your bow. As far as I'm concerned, what the doctor says goes," Natasha replied mildly.

"You're no fun," Clint pouted.

Nick Fury breezed through the door, followed by a distressed Phil Coulson.

"Agents," Fury greeted them.

"Sir," Natasha replied respectfully.

"Nick!" Clint called. "So nice of you to join us! We so rarely see you out of your office. To what do we owe this joyous moment?"

The look Fury sent at the man would have curdled milk.

"You have a mission," Phil explained, setting some folders down on the table.

"How?" Natasha asked. "Barton is still on medical leave and we all know that none of you are letting me out on my own."

"The Council ordered it," Fury stated.

Clint nodded, "That's why you're here."

Fury nodded once.

"So why are they overriding my medical leave?" Clint asked. "And what godforsaken hellhole are they sending us to?"

Phil sighed and slid the folders to the agents, "You're going to be observing a suspected HYDRA base. Should you find signs of activity you will be responsible for stopping their operations. You'll be in—"

"Siberia?" Natasha interrupted. Her folder open in front of her. Her voice seemed completely devoid of life when she spoke.

Phil nodded.

"Wait, really? Siberia? In February?" Clint questioned. "To watch a suspected HYDRA base?"

"Why us?" Natasha said. "Aren't we a bit above this?"

Fury sighed and exchanged a look with Phil, "The Council insisted that it be the two of you. I don't have the power to override them on this."

"What aren't you telling us?" Clint demanded after exchanging a look with Natasha.

"This doesn't sit well with either of us," Phil admitted. "We don't know why the Council requested the two of you or why they demanded we take care of this assignment now. It's been on the books for a while, we just haven't gotten around to it yet… It's never been a priority before this."

"How do they plan on getting me into Russia?" Natasha asked quietly. She looked at the men who had fallen silent at her question.

"Technically, there's no reason why you can't return to Russia. The government has never admitted to training you, so they can't say you defected," Phil replied, almost gently. "We think you'll be okay if you just stay out of the way of the government. We get you in, send you to the safe house in central Siberia, and then we get you home."

Natasha nodded but remained skeptical. She had a bad feeling about this too.

Fury cleared his throat. "You'll be flying in through Novosibirsk before we send you to the safe house. Coulson will remain with you while you perform your reconnaissance. He'll liaise with me and we'll make sure things stay under control."

"Things are going to get fucked up, aren't they?" Clint asked.

No one answered him.

Siberia was really fucking cold, Clint decided as soon as they'd landed the helicopter in a clearing outside of the safe house. He'd thought walking through a blizzard in Yellowstone was bad. It paled in comparison to the biting cold that crept through his clothes. The light layer of snow had surprised him, until Natasha reminded him it was a tundra landscape. Cold without snow. It was a horrible place for a man who loved to be outside in the sun.

Natasha had been abnormally quiet since they landed in Russia. Clint had understood once he realized that this was the first time Natasha had been back in her home country since defecting. It must have stirred up some interesting emotions.

The safe house was blissfully warm with a large fireplace and a heater. The kitchen was relatively spacious and well-stocked. And there were three beds, all in separate rooms. It even had a window seat in the main room, making it one of the nicest safe houses Clint had ever been in. He wouldn't have guessed that SHIELD understood nice things when it came to outfitting their safe houses, so it seemed strange to him.

They made plans to begin scouting the area around the HYDRA base in the morning over a decent dinner of MREs and some pasta Clint had cooked. Phil chose to go to bed, exhausted from organizing their transportation and planning for the mission. He'd also been worried about his agent going on a mission so soon after getting shot, especially since Sanders opposed it as well. The assassins didn't last much longer before retiring themselves, knowing that the next few days might be their last peaceful ones for a while.

* * *

Clint woke up with his torso aching in the night from the angle he'd been sleeping at. He listened to the sounds of the unfamiliar house for a while before giving up on sleep and moving out of bed. The temperature had dropped slightly in the night and he gathered one of his blankets around him to ward off the slight chill. When he emerged from his room into the living room area of the house, he was surprised to see Natasha sitting on the window seat looking outside.

He cursed when he got closer and saw she was only wearing pants that barely went past her knees and a tank top. She hadn't thought to grab a blanket and the chill air from outside had seeped through the window. Clint could feel it as he approached. He unwrapped the blanket from his shoulders and dropped it over her, "Are you an idiot? You'll freeze!"

Natasha shrugged, "It's colder outside."

Clint studied her for a moment before taking a seat across from her on the window seat, his legs extending towards her hips. He pulled the blanket to cover both of their legs.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"You've been quiet since we landed," he remarked.

"I'm always quiet."

"Quieter. And not your usual quiet. I notice things, don't try to lie to me."

She didn't say anything.

"Why are you up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Why not?"

Natasha turned to him, a brief flash of anger in her eyes, "Are you going to go away any time soon?"

"Not until we talk," Clint said with steadfast determination. "What's bothering you?"

She shrugged, "Being back in Russia is…different. I didn't expect it to feel so strange. A part of me feels like I've come home, but another part of me hates it here. Very little of my life in Russia was pleasant."

Clint nodded for her to continue.

"Being in Siberia doesn't help."

"You've been here before?"

"Yes."

He waited, hoping she would continue on her own, "When? Why?"

Her sharp gaze turned to him before returning to the window, "I don't really feel like sharing right now, Barton."

"Well I feel like listening, so tell me," Clint replied forcefully. He was tired of her drawing back, even after she admitted to caring she still didn't want to trust him. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Listen, I know you don't want to share. But sometimes it helps. And I want to know, I want to understand what happened to you."

"I don't want your pity," she snarled.

"That's not what I'm offering," Clint backpedaled. "I'm offering you my empathy, my understanding. I would never pity you Romanoff. You're too strong. And I don't think you need it."

Natasha remained silent for several minutes before speaking, "Why did you give me a birthday present?"

It took Clint a moment for his mind to catch up with the sudden change of topic. He remembered sneaking into the locker room on base while she was out to leave a wrapped package. She hadn't mentioned it so he assumed she'd decided to get rid of it. Inside, had been a leather bound collection of Russian fairytales. He thought for a moment before answering, "Because I knew you hadn't celebrated your birthday in years. I thought maybe you would appreciate getting something."

Natasha laughed cruelly, "I don't care about those things. Birthdays are stupid. They purely mark the passing of time, counting down until we die. My life will not be long, what's the point of marking it?"

Clint frowned at her negative aspect, "To me birthdays are meant to celebrate surviving another year. I'm going to celebrate yours, whether you want me to or not."

They lapsed into silence again.

"I was fifteen," Natasha said.

Clint's eyebrows tilted down in momentary confusion.

"The last time I was in Siberia," Natasha explained. "It was one of the last training things they did with me. We were here in December, during the longest night of the year. They sent out seven girls. We each had a knife, flint and steel, and a rope. We were told to survive until they came to get us. But there were very strict rules on how far you could move away from the drop-off location.

"None of the girls liked each other. We'd been trained to see each other as enemies and all we wanted to do was be the best. It didn't take long before we started killing each other. I ended up on my own, several miles away for three days. I had on a pair of pants, tennis shoes, and a hoodie," she explained.

"Between the wolves and the threat of the other girls, I barely slept. There was nothing to eat until I managed to catch a ground squirrel. Even that didn't last long. Finally, I risked heading back towards the drop-off zone. I got lucky, they showed up to pick us up an hour after I got there. Another one of the girls joined me and we stayed on the edge of the clearing. It was horrible, three of the girls were dead. And they were missing body parts. The other two tried to come after us. They were hungry, and they wanted something fresh to eat."

Clint nearly gagged as he realized what she meant.

"I killed one, after she'd killed the girl with me. If the Red Room hadn't arrived a few minutes later, I'm not sure I would have survived against the other."

The silence grew thick around them.

"Still want to know about Siberia?" Natasha asked mockingly.

"Yes," Clint said. "I want to know because it shows me you're still human. The fact that you remember it and that it affects you says a lot. Do you remember their names?"

Natasha spoke after a moment, voice thick with emotion, "Every damn one."

Clint understood she didn't just mean the girls who died during that training exercise. He shuddered to think what her life had been like.

* * *

The first two and a half weeks of surveillance in Siberia had proved both fruitless and boring to the SHIELD agents involved. Clint and Natasha took turns running surveillance during the day, with both of them watching the compound for a few hours in the middle. Phil remained at or around the safe house (occasionally running to the nearby town to stock up on fresh food). Since none of them had actually seen anything out of the ordinary yet, they were beginning to hope that they would end up finding nothing and able to return to New York soon.

Clint lay sprawled on a tree branch above Natasha. His binoculars sat next to him, along with most of his weapons and supplies for the surveillance run. He'd been watching the compound since early that morning and only had an hour left before he got to go back to Phil. He intended to make himself a hot drink and curl up with a warm blanket before sleeping for several hours.

"I spy with my little eye," Clint said slowly, looking around him. He'd been trying to get Natasha to join in since she arrived two hours before. So far she hadn't said a single thing in response. "Something… Black!"

He waiting a few moments, staring up at the black bird spiraling above them.

"HYDRA Agent?" Natasha asked casually.

Clint frowned and moved to look down at her, "No, it's a bird. Why would you say HYDRA Agent?"

"Because that's what I spy," she replied.

Clint nearly fell out of the tree as he lost his balance in his hurry to grab his binoculars and gaze once more at the compound, "You better not be messing with me…"

Natasha snorted below him, gaze still fixed on the compound, "Like I'd mess with you about this."

They watched in silence for a few minutes before Clint finally caught a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. A door had been propped open. That wouldn't have happened if the facility was empty as they'd seen so far. Clint frowned.

"There," Natasha muttered.

Clint's eyes caught onto the bit of movement outside the compound. Two men rounded one of the buildings, lugging a large crate between them.

"Shit," Clint said.

"Call Coulson."

Clint turned on his earpiece on and reported what they'd seen. It turns out the compound wasn't as empty as they'd thought.

Natasha continued to study the buildings, staring and trying to figure out how they hadn't seen any movement until this point. She looked up at Clint, "I'm going to see if I can get a better view."

He nodded, "Stay on comms."

Natasha dropped silently to the ground and began making her way around the edge of the compound, sticking to the tree line as much as possible. Arriving on the east side of the compounds, she climbed up a tree again in order to gain a better vantage point. Spending so much time with Barton meant she'd gained an appreciation of high points.

There. The east road had been mostly obstructed from their vantage point, allowing two large trucks to pull up to the compound's gate. Several men dressed in black, tactical gear were unloading crates of various sizes from the trucks and moving them into the compound. Natasha guessed that for the last few days, the facility had been minimally staffed while they waited for the cargo to arrive.

"Romanoff," Clint's voice echoed over the comms. "You got anything?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Two trucks and a bunch of guys unloading some crates. Out on the east side. We couldn't see the road from where we were watching today."

Clint swore, "That's problematic."

"You think?"

"Do you want to stay and observe or go back to Phil and start working out a plan?"

Natasha thought for a moment before responding. Her eyes widened when she saw one of the lids slip open, revealing a glimpse of the contents. "We need to rethink our strategy."

"Copy. I'll wait for you here and we can head back," Clint stated.

Natasha let herself out of the tree with care, not wanting to draw attention to herself at this point. Clint had descended as well and stood, waiting for her, at the base of the tree. They retreated from the compound in silence, each wondering how this turn of events would impact the mission. Their bad feelings about the mission had returned full force.

Back at the safe house, Phil was less than pleased when he heard what his operatives had seen. So far, they'd had no reason to suspect the facility, but just as they were about to pack up and call it a day there was activity. It seemed far to suspicious for Phil to feel at ease. The tension rolling off his agents didn't help.

"There's one more thing," Natasha said as Clint finished his report.

The men turned to face her.

"I caught a glimpse inside one of the crates," she admitted. "It was full of canisters marked with the biohazard symbol. Who knows if it's actually hazardous, it could just be a ruse. But we need to factor that into any plans we make."

"If they're making bioweapons…" Clint trailed off.

Phil ran a hand over his face, "We need to report to Fury. We knew something screwy was going on with this. We didn't think bioweapons…"

"What do you want us doing?" Natasha asked.

Phil sighed and glanced at his watch, "Stay here for the rest of the day. You'll head back out tomorrow to continue surveillance. Use the time to start planning a new approach to this."

Natasha turned to face Clint, "Biological warfare is a very Russian idea."

"What are you saying?" he replied with a frown, afraid of where her statement was headed.

"These HYDRA agents may be in league with the Russian government. I certainly wouldn't rule it out. You can't believe that Russia has ever been happy about SHIELD intervening in world affairs. Or the fact that SHIELD predominantly follows American ideology."

Clint shrugged, "If that's the case, we may be more screwed than we thought. That implies that Councilwoman Moryakov may be feeding information about SHIELD to our enemies… It's a hell of an accusation."

"An accusation we can't level," Phil interjected. "Not without proof. But we have to keep our eyes open. You may be right. Even if they're just cooperating with the Russian government we're in trouble."

* * *

A week after they'd confirmed the presence of HYDRA agents at the compound, Natasha woke up with a knot in her stomach. Dread filled her entire body. Up to this point, their continued surveillance had only given them a possible range for the number of agents inside. They had no idea what the agents were doing, what they wanted with bioweapons, or how long they planned on staying. Today, they were going to try to infiltrate the base, dressed as new agents arriving from the village. It was a long shot, but hopefully one that would work.

She rolled out of bed and stretched, allowing herself a moment to relax before getting back to work. After a quick shower and a bite to eat, she was ready to go.

Clint appeared a moment after she'd finished and nodded at her.

The agents moved out of the safe house without a word to Phil. They'd been planning this day for too long to waste time on words.

A light layer of snow covered the ground, having fallen sometime in the night. Natasha frowned down at the ground.

"What's with the frown?" Clint asked.

"The snow makes it easier to track us if we need to run."

Clint found himself frowning now, "Great. As if this didn't feel bad enough…"

They made their way to the compound, stopping for an hour to observe from the trees. Based on surveillance, a supply chain would be arriving in the next few hours with new agents from all over the world. They planned to slip in among the trucks and walk straight into the facility. With any luck they'd even be able to stay together. Otherwise, their comms would keep them in touch with each other and Coulson

A rumble along the path alerted the assassins that the convoy was approaching.

"Showtime," Clint grinned.

"Comm check," Natasha instructed.

"Clear," Coulson's voice sounded through their pieces.

"Clear," Clint added.

"Let me know if anything starts to go wrong," Phil instructed sternly. "Good luck, agents."

Natasha was the first to leave the tree line, darting quickly down to the road and stepping into position next to a truck, right in the driver's blind spot. She watched out of the corner of her eye as a dark colored shadow drifted over towards the trucks and took up a similar position. They were in place. Now the test was if they really could just walk right in.

The red head held her breath and kept her head down as the convoy passed through the gates. She was terrified that they were going to get caught and captured right away. Some of the tension relaxed from her body when she found both herself and her partner safely through the gates. Most of the other new agents began wandering away from the trucks and into buildings. As far Natasha could tell, there was no system as to where they were going. She and Clint would be fine to just wander around and see what they could find.

Clint appeared at her elbow. He nodded towards the outbuilding they'd seen the crates being taken into. A couple of new agents appear to be headed that direction as well.

Natasha walked beside Clint amiably, as they made their way towards the building. The agents in front of them split off into some of the other buildings they passed until it was only the assassins approaching. Refusing to look around to check if anyone was watching, Natasha pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The warehouse was cooler than expected, as if the contents weren't supposed to be heated. It's Clint who gestures towards the left, deciding the direction of the loop they'll make. Natasha follows without a word. She hasn't been able to shake her bad feeling yet.

When they reach the back of the warehouse, Natasha looks around, searching for signs of surveillance. "No cameras," she breathes

"Let's see what's in these then."

Clint picked up one of the crowbars lying around the floor in the back and pried at the crates. After a few seconds of exertion, the panel opened with a creak. Both assassins froze for a moment to make sure no one heard them. They moved closer to the crate and peered inside.

Canisters labeled with biohazard symbols filled the entire container. The label contained a scientific name as well:  _Variola vera_.

"Fuck," Clint breathed.

"Coulson," Natasha called softly, activating her earpiece. "It's smallpox."

"Are you sure?" Coulson asked.

Natasha nodded before she realized he couldn't see her, "The canisters are all labeled  _Variola vera_. Unless there's some other biohazard called that, I think we're right."

"I'm calling Fury," Phil snarled. "This mission has felt shifty from the beginning. You two need to get out of there and return to the safe house. Please don't get yourselves infected with smallpox."

Natasha led the way out of the warehouse, struggling to keep her fear from showing. Few things scared the Black Widow. Weaponized smallpox was one. She hesitated at the door to put her game face back on.

Clint allowed his shoulders to slump, "Things just got a thousand times more dangerous, didn't they?"

Natasha didn't have the heart to respond.

The assassins blinked in the bright sunlight that met them once they were outside of the warehouse. No one seemed to notice them and people were still milling about and moving from building to building.

"Let's go," Clint muttered, starting towards the gate.

"No," Natasha stated. She turned away and began walking towards the main building. "We're not done yet."

Clint sighed in exasperation and rushed to catch up, "You heard Coulson. He wants us to head back."

"And I want to see if we can figure out what they plan to do with the smallpox. We can't just stop now. This might be our only chance to get inside," Natasha argued.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

Resigned, Clint followed his partner towards the building.

A HYDRA agent stood outside the door, looking bored out of his mind. He examined Natasha and Clint for a moment before waving them through. His muttered words were meant as a threat: "Fresh Meat."

Bare concrete walls lined the hallways branching off from the front door. A few signs had nothing more than some numbers and an arrow pointing.

Clint shrugged when Natasha gave him a questioning look. He didn't have any more of a plan than she did.

Making a split second decision, Natasha plunged into the hallway that was second on the left.

"You have no idea where we're going, do you?" Clint muttered behind her.

Natasha shot him a glare but didn't refute his statement.

Several rooms branched off the hall, many with the doors wide open. One room featured a group of young agents watching TV, another had a small kitchen in it, a third showed an empty conference room. None of them held any interest for the agents. The cracked door towards the end of the hall proved far more intriguing.

Natasha crept along the wall to stand just outside of the door. She could just barely hear the voices inside.

"Wir haben nicht viel mehr, Doktor. SHIELD beginnt die Untersuchung bald," a man snarled in German.  _(We don't have much longer, Doctor. SHIELD will start investigating soon.)_

"Ich brauche mehr Zeit," a new voice protested. He sounded uncomfortable but firm.  _(I need more time.)_

A third voice spoke, filling Natasha with dread, "Meine Regierung hat Sie mit allem, was man brauchen könnte geliefert. Warum dauert es so lange?"  _(My government has supplied you with everything you could possibly need. Why is it taking so long?)_

Clint frowned as he watched Natasha stiffen when the third man spoke. He didn't dare ask her about it in case the men inside heard. But anything that made the Black Widow react was worth worrying about. And there was something familiar about that accent…

"Sie fragen uns, um das Virus zu stärken, damit die Amerikaner sind machtlos dagegen. Es braucht Zeit, um erfolgreich zu sein. Möchten Sie lieber zu früh bewegen wir uns?" the doctor said patronizingly to the third man.  _(You're asking us to strengthen the virus so the Americans are powerless against it. It takes time to be successful. Would you rather we move too soon?)_

"Sie haben zwei Tage, bevor ich zurück. Es wäre besser, komplett sein oder Sie sich in der Notwendigkeit einer neuen Heimat finden können," the third man growled.  _(You have two days before I return. It had better be complete or you may find yourselves in need of a new home.)_

Russian, Clint realized. The man spoke with a Russian accent. Was that what had made his partner react?

The door swung open without warning. Both assassins remained frozen for a moment before Clint sprang into action. He grabbed Natasha's arm and dragged her for a few steps before she began running with him.

"We're made," Clint relayed to Coulson as they ran.

"Eindringlinge! Alarm schlagen!" the Russian shouted behind them.  _(Intruders! Sound the alarm!)_

The two assassins smashed their way out of the front door of the building just as a klaxon began to sound around the compound.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Clint swore. Every agent outside had turned to look at them. They had no chance of getting out cleanly. He whipped his gun out and let off three precise shots, comforted when he sensed Natasha doing the same thing next to him. God, Clint wished he'd been able to bring his bow with him…

"We have to get out of here," Natasha called to him as she led the way behind a stack of empty crates.

"You think?" Clint snarked. He glanced out from their meager cover and took down two more agents.

Natasha looked at the gate for a moment, noticing that it still stood wide open. In their haste to subdue the internal threat, the HYDRA agents on the gate had forgotten about external ones. She turned back to Clint, "We've got to run for it."

"Are you crazy?"

"We're both wearing Kevlar. We can make it. No one's paying attention to the gate so we have a chance."

Clint checked the gate himself and nodded, "Fine. Let's go."

Natasha pulled out a second gun before pushing herself upright and stepping out from behind the crates. She let off several rounds aimed at the HYDRA agents before turning to Clint, "Go. I'll cover you."

He didn't debate her decision to stay but instead took off running for the gate, shooting the agent who ran at him in the knee. When Clint reached the gate, he positioned himself next to the post farthest from Natasha's location, where he had a little bit of cover from enemy fire and a good vantage point. Looking back towards his partner, he saw that she was shooting from behind the crates once again.

Instead of trying to get her attention over the gunfire, Clint chose to start shooting back at the agents moving in on Natasha.

At the sudden burst of gunfire from the gate, the HYDRA agents spun away from Natasha and towards Clint. They began shooting at him.

Natasha didn't hesitate. She bolted for the gate, downing the few agents who tried to stop her.

"Morons," she told Clint once she'd reached him. "They're going to run out of ammo with the way they're shooting…"

Clint chuckled darkly, "Let's not stay to watch that."

The red head shrugged and followed him away from the compound and into the trees. They hurried through the forest, trying to keep to the areas where the snow had melted or was melting. They didn't want to leave more of a trail than they already had.

"Sit rep," Coulson suddenly demanded through the comms.

Clint sighed and glanced at his partner, "We're both fine…"

Natasha nodded to confirm his assumption.

"We made it out of the base but there was a bit of a firefight…"

"Barton…" Phil warned. "What happened?"

Clint glanced at Natasha, who took up the story, "We found one of the main buildings and were listening to them discuss their plans. I thought I maybe recognized one of the voices, so we stayed close. The door flew open without warning and they saw us. They sounded an alarm and then we had to fight our way out."

"You recognized someone?" Phil asked, voice tinged with worry.

Natasha swallowed, "I wasn't sure at first, but when I saw his face, I knew. His name's Dmitri Shchitt. He was one of the guards at the Red Room. He definitely recognized me."

"From the way they were talking," Clint interjected. "It sounded like the Russian government is backing this project."

Phil remained silent for a long moment, "Come back here and we'll figure out a plan. I'm calling Fury to see if he can get us any more help. Or better yet, pull us out of here."

"Will do," Clint said before turning to face Natasha. "You froze."

Natasha looked away, "It won't happen again."

Clint's voice was gentle, "It's okay. Just, why? Was the guy that bad?"

She shrugged, "It's not that so much as it was a shock to see him. I knew I risked running into memories while back in Russia. I just didn't think I'd see anyone in the flesh."

Clint nodded, "Well, maybe we'll get a chance to take him out."

Clint and Natasha had each taken a turn in the bathroom to clean up from their infiltration of the compound, enjoying the hot water as it warmed their bones. When both had finished, they found themselves seated at the kitchen table across from a serious Phil Coulson.

"I'm waiting for Fury to call me back," Phil began.

"But…" Clint prompted.

Phil sighed, "With the new developments, we'd like to pull both of you off this mission and send in a larger team, better equipped to deal with this. However, the Council has been pushing for your involvement in this mission from the beginning. It's doubtful that they'll change things now."

Clint practically growled, "Romanoff and I are not the right team for this mission now. They need tac teams and biohazard teams in here to deal with it. Not two assassins."

"I agree," Phil admitted.

"My recognizing Shchitt probably didn't help," Natasha stead.

Phil looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat, "It's not going to help the Council be lenient. How are you doing with that?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes and shot a questioning glance at Clint.

Phil realized she thought the archer had told him to ask. He tried to give her a friendly smile, "I'm not callous enough to believe for a moment that it didn't bring up some less than pleasant memories."

"I'm fine," Natasha said shortly, keeping her emotionless mask in place.

Phil studied her for a moment before nodding. He opened his mouth to speak again but found himself interrupted by his ringing phone. "Coulson."

Clint frowned when his handler put the phone on speaker and set it on the table.

"The Council won't let you withdraw," Fury's voice echoed out of the phone.

Anger surged through Clint without warning, only exacerbated by Natasha's sharp intake of breath. He didn't like the idea of her being upset by the mission. "Are they fucking idiots?"

"Possibly," Fury allowed. "They've ordered the two of you to complete your mission. Destroy the base."

Natasha ran a hand through her hair, "And how do they propose we do that with a warehouse full of smallpox involved."

"Actually, they want you to leave the smallpox alone. They'll send a team to take care of it."

Phil snorted, "That's a terrible call. Good thing I've already talked with biohazards and have a few ideas of how to safely dispose of it."

"I didn't hear that," Fury said.

"It's a test, isn't it?" Natasha asked suddenly.

A long silence met her words, Clint and Phil fearing the answer.

Finally, Fury spoke, "Yes."

She nodded decisively, "Okay."

"Keep in touch," Fury instructed. "And good luck agents."

The call ended abruptly, leaving the agents sitting in the kitchen slightly dazed.

Clint ran a hand over his face tiredly, "We're going to need a hell of a plan."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment, they make my day :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “Они знают, где вы находитесь. Идут,” Shchitt choked out with a final glare at Natasha. (They know where you are. They’re coming.)


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Karolina94 for commenting. There's still a ways to go before their relationship changes, but we're getting close!

_Red Room, Unknown Location—2002_

Natasha glanced at the woman standing beside her in front of the new recruits. Erika was only a year older than Natasha, and currently the top of her class. While Natasha knew she outclassed the other girl in pretty much every way, she also knew that the instructors prided Erika's ruthlessness. She pitied the girls who were about to be put under her charge.

Ivan finished his introduction and looked over at Natasha, she stepped forward and stared at the girls in front of her, "Один через семь, пойдем со мной."  _(One through seven, come with me.)_

The first half of the line stepped forward obediently and followed her across the training area. She was impressed by their discipline when they lined up. She smirked evilly at them before speaking in a low voice, "Сегодня вы начинаете базовую подготовку. Это не будет легко. Теперь начать показ и не останавливайтесь, пока я не скажу тебе."  _(Today you start basic training. It won't be easy. Now start running and don't stop until I tell you to.)_

Six of the girls took off running immediately while one remained for a moment longer, giving Natasha a long hard stare before following her peers.

Natasha cocked her head slightly as she watched the girl quickly move to the front of the group. She had spirit for sure, and promise.

The group she was instructing continued to run for close to thirty minutes, many of them slowing as time progressed and the group getting farther and farther apart. She called them back together and began having them work on a strength routine involving various exercises with partners, weight lifting, and pushups.

Erika's voice drew her attention away from the group. The blonde was standing over one of the new recruits with her hand raised to strike. The girl looked like she was about to cry.

CRACK!

Erika's hand flew through the air and knocked the girl backwards. She sneered down at the girl and hissed, "Вы слабы."  _(You're weak.)_

The girl flinched and scooted backwards across the gym as Erika moved to strike again.

Erika's cold laugh echoed through the room as she lowered her hand, "Вставай вы бесполезны брат."  _(Get up you worthless brat.)_

The girl pushed herself to her feet clumsily and dropped back into position in the line of girls, keeping her gaze firmly on the wall across from them as Erika walked up and down in front of them. Unshed tears glistened in the eyes of more than one of the girls.

"Мы собираемся попробовать нечто новое," Erika smirked. "Я хочу, чтобы каждый из вас, чтобы драться со мной. Это будет следить, какие навыки у каждого из вас есть или отсутствие…"  _(We're going to try something new. I want each of you to fight me. It'll let me know what skills each of you have or lack…)_

The girl who'd been hit actually whimpered.

Natasha pulled her attention back to the group she was training and set them on their next task, traversing the immense climbing wall that ran around one side of the gym.

A sharp cry drew Natasha back to watching Erika. The woman was standing over a girl who cradled her arm against her chest. Erika's expression was one of pure disgust.

"Следующая," Erika growled.  _(Next.)_

Another girl stepped into the arena and bravely raised her fists against the woman.

Erika pivoted out and landed a solid kick to the girl's chest, probably breaking several ribs. Instead of backing off though, Erika stepped forward to continue the attack.

Natasha shook her head and darted across the room, unable to watch any longer and willing to face the consequences for her actions. She caught the woman's fist as she brought it down to smash the girl's head.

"Enough," Natasha snarled.

Erika jerked away from the smaller woman, "Mind your own business Widow. Just because you're Ivan's pet doesn't mean you don't have to play by the rules."

Natasha smirked in reply, "I am playing by the rules. We don't break the new recruits, that's left for Ivan. I'm sure he'll be thrilled when he hears how you've behaved today."

Erika lunged forward.

Natasha sidestepped the attack and dropped slightly, kicking Erika's legs out from under her. The woman landed hard on her back, the air whooshing from her lungs.

Natasha bent over the woman and leaned close to her face, "Don't forget which of us is better here, Erika. I can and will kill you if you keep behaving like this."

Erika shoved to her feet, eyes flashing in anger and humiliation. She sent one more glare at Natasha before turning back to her group and ordering them to start running.

Natasha let out a shaky breath and moved away, certain that the woman wouldn't be pushing any boundaries in the near future. She chanced a glance up to the observation deck and watched as one of Ivan's lackeys met her eyes before turning and running out. She'd be hearing about her actions later.

* * *

_HYDRA Compound, Siberia, Russia — 2008_

Sneaking through the HYDRA compound in order to place charges for when they made their move was making Natasha's stomach roil. Everything in her demanded she turn tail and run. Something wasn't quite right. Her partner felt the same way, which was why he insisted on doing check-ins every seven minutes.

Natasha set her last charge before heading back towards the smallpox warehouse and the rendezvous point with her partner. She spoke lowly into her comms, "Barton, I'm en route to the rendezvous point. All charges are set."

A second later Clint replied, "I've got one left and then I'll meet you there."

Natasha nodded and slunk through the shadows. She was glad they'd chosen to approach at night, even if it meant that they were colder than usual. The long shadows helped hide their movements and she knew that few HYDRA agents would be willing to stir from their warm buildings at the moment. The smallpox warehouse rose up out of the darkness to meet her, they only building without any windows from which light could spill forth.

She moved around to the door and took a deep breath, all she had to do was stay alert and wait for Clint to meet her at this point. It shouldn't be too difficult.

Sudden movement over to her left drew her attention. She blanched and pulled out her sidearm as Shchitt appeared. He stalked towards her like a predator hunting its prey. Natasha had to fight the urge to flee. She'd never had a terrible encounter with Shchitt, but she knew of his ruthless reputation. Many of the younger girls in the Red Room feared him as much as Ivan.

"Здравствуйте, вдова," he smirked. "Это было в то время. Вы понятия не имеете, как удивленный я был, когда вы появились на днях. Смотрите, я знал, что ты дезертировал, но я не думаю, что вы бы настолько глуп, чтобы вернуться в Россию. Это будет приятно вас уничтожить"  _(Hello, Widow. It's been a while. You have no idea how surprised I was when you appeared the other day. See, I knew you had defected but I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to return to Russia. It will be a pleasure to destroy you.)_

Natasha gave up her pretense of blending in, "Shchitt, вы всегда были слишком высокомерны для вашего же блага, разве вы не знаете, что вы не стоите шанс против меня?"  _(Shchitt, you always were too arrogant for your own good, don't you know that you don't stand a chance against me?)_

Clint's sharp intake of breath told her that her partner heard what was going on. He knew they were in trouble.

"Это почти слишком плохо, что я собираюсь убить тебя," Shchitt continued in a malicious tone. "Я мог бы так весело с вами ... Может быть, я просто убью вашего партнера, а затем играть с вами на некоторое время. Может быть, я даже превратить вас обратно к Красной Комнате."  _(It's almost too bad that I'm going to kill you. I could have so much fun with you... Perhaps I'll just kill your partner and then play with you for a while. Maybe I'll even turn you back over to the Red Room.)_

"Только через мой труп," Natasha growled.  _(Over my dead body.)_

"Да будет так."  _(So be it.)_

Shchitt jumped towards her, revealing the knife he'd had concealed in his hand during their conversation. Natasha pulled her gun up sharply and shot at him. Shchitt's forward momentum kept him out of the path of the bullet as he slammed into the Widow and nearly brought her to the ground.

Natasha spun away from the man before he could get a good grip on her and pulled out her own knife. She refused to lose this fight. Not waiting for Shchitt to recover enough to take the iniative again, Natasha stepped towards him and tried to punch him in the jaw. He blocked her, as she'd expected, allowing her to send a well-aimed kick at his torso. Natasha felt a rib crack under her foot, satisfying her immensely.

But the broken rib didn't do anything to slow Shchitt down. It only seemed to strengthen his resolve as he refused to disengage from Natasha. His elbow cut into her stomach and knocked the air from her lungs. She dropped to the ground and rolled between his legs, rising to a defensive position behind him while trying to catch her breath.

This time, she didn't waste any energy. She threw herself into the fight without hesitation, launching attack after attack, never giving Shchitt a chance to recover. Natasha didn't even notice when he got a lucky swipe at her with his knife, scoring a scratch across her cheek.

Natasha saw an opening and lashed out, forcing her knife into his chest. She stepped back and watched as he fell to the ground, gasping for air as the life drained from his body.

"Они знают, где вы находитесь. Идут," Shchitt choked out with a final glare at Natasha.  _(They know where you are. They're coming.)_

She retrieved her knife before looking around. It was eerily quiet in the compound and no one seemed to have noticed the fight. Then she heard gunfire.

"Hawkeye," she called over the comms.

"Little busy," Clint replied. "But glad to hear your alive. It was an ambush after I set the last charge. They knew we were coming."

Natasha took off running towards the direction of the gunfire, "Shchitt's dead but we still have the warehouse to deal with."

When she found Barton, he had his back to the fence and was fending off a small army. Natasha darted through the crowd of HYDRA soldiers, taking down as many as she could while she fought to reach her partner. If she could handle anything that got close, he could shoot the agents farther away.

"I'm not sure we're gonna have a chance to go after the warehouse," Clint muttered to Natasha when she reached his side.

She sent him a questioning look.

"We were estimating maybe three dozen agents here, right? Well it looks like they've got about three times that. It's a bit much, even for us."

"We have to try," Natasha said grimly. She understood his worry but knew they didn't have the freedom to just call it a failed attempt and try again. It was now or never.

With both assassins fighting against the group of HYDRA agents they made significant progress in beating them. That all changed however when reinforcements arrived. It turned out their estimates of how many agents were in the compound were woefully inaccurate as another fifty men appeared.

"I'm almost out of bullets," Natasha cursed as she jammed her last clip into her gun.

"We've got to go," Clint admitted after a moment. "Give me a second to blow a hole in the Fence and we'll run for it."

Natasha stepped forward and began taking down any HYDRA agent who made a move for her partner. She just had to buy him enough time.

"Okay, better duck," Clint called.

Natasha dropped to the ground as Clint pressed a button on his bow, igniting the charge he'd laid at the bottom of the fence along with the other charges they'd set.

A series of explosions wracked the compound, making the ground shake. Clint and Natasha both covered their heads as they lay on the ground, waiting for a chance to escape. The HYDRA agents began to panic, many running to start trying to put out some of the fires that had started.

"Now," Clint called to Natasha.

They pushed themselves up and made a beeline for the fence, ignoring the rain of bullets that began a few seconds later as some of the more intelligent HYDRA agents realized their targets were escaping.

Natasha gasped and stumbled as she felt a bullet slice through her side.

"Widow?" Clint asked when he noticed.

She waved him off, "Through and through, I'll be fine."

Clint frowned but didn't argue as they began running into the trees.

Natasha was struggling to keep pace with her partner thanks to the bullet wound in her side when he veered towards the safe house. She stopped and reached out to get his attention, "We can't go back there. You said they knew we were coming, what else did they know? Even assuming they didn't know about the safe house, we don't want to lead them to Coulson. Plus there's a chance we've got Red Room assets after us."

Clint paused and frowned in consternation, "We don't have anywhere else to go."

"We can't risk it," Natasha whispered.

Clint closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "I have to warn Phil."

Natasha bit her lip but didn't say anything. She had to take a leap of faith and trust her partner to make the right call.

"Phil," Clint hailed over the comms.

"What's going on?" Phil demanded, voice tinged with worry.

"We were sold out. They knew we were coming, and there's a chance that we've got to deal with the Red Room coming after us too," Clint began. "Romanoff and I are going off the grid until we get this finished. We blew the charges at the compound but didn't have a chance to touch the smallpox warehouse. Phil, you've gotta make sure that gets taken care of."

"Hawk, you don't have to—"

"Yes, we do. See you soon Phil."

Clint pulled out his earpiece and threw it on the ground with a heavy sigh. Natasha followed suit and watched with an emotionless mask as he stomped them both to pieces, "Where should we go?"

Natasha shrugged and winced when the motion jostled her bullet wound.

"Somewhere we can get you some help," Clint said as he walked over to her, slipping under her arm to provide a bit of support. "We'll start by picking up the gear we stashed. Then we'll find somewhere to stay for the night."

* * *

Two hours after picking up their gear, Clint had finally stumbled upon an abandoned cabin in the woods. It was dilapidated to say the least, with the sunken roof and boarded up windows, it looked like an accident waiting to happen. But Clint didn't have a better option. It would provide some protection from the elements and give them somewhere to hide out from the guys chasing them. Most importantly, it would give him a decent place to treat his injured partner.

Thirty minutes before, Natasha had started to become unresponsive. By now, she was barely standing (and that much only because Clint was supporting most of her weight). He maneuvered the door open and set Natasha down gently. She started to protest until she saw the stubborn look he gave her.

Clint moved farther into the cabin and surveyed the available space. A moth-eaten bed lay abandoned in one room. The kitchen held only a table, some chairs, and a few mice he startled. And the bathroom was minimally furnished with just a sink and a toilet. He turned on the tap just to see and found they had clean water after it ran for a few minutes. In the main room where he'd left Natasha stood a large fireplace.

Clint returned to his partner and moved her into the kitchen, propping her up in a chair. He gave her a stern look, "Stay here. I'm going to get us some wood to start a fire."

Natasha was too tired to respond and sagged down into the seat. When Clint returned several minutes later with the dry wood he'd gathered, he got to work on a fire before turning to his partner.

"Be honest," he said. "How bad is it?"

Natasha shrugged, "I've had worse. But it's not good. It's still bleeding a bit…"

"Dammit," Clint swore. "You should have told me. We could have dealt with that at least."

"It hasn't been bleeding much for the last hour," she defended.

"Let me look at it, and then you are going to drink some water and get some sleep. We need to get you hydrated."

Natasha's lack of reply worried Clint more than he'd expected. It seemed a bit out of character for her to just allow him to treat her wounds. And to not put up a fight about needing to keep moving or anything when they stopped at the cabin.

Natasha stripped off her coat and shirt without a word, leaving her in only a sports bra. She shivered in the open air but allowed Clint to step closer and pull out the rubbing alcohol from their gear.

"Sorry, but I've got to clean this. You're sure the bullet is out?"

"It went right through, got an exit hole and everything," Natasha grunted when he began to pour the alcohol over the injury.

Clint frowned when he reached out to hold Natasha still. Her skin was freezing to the touch, most likely from the weather but definitely not helped by the blood loss, "Natasha, I'm going to get you some water. You have to drink as much as possible."

When he returned from filling an empty water bottle at the sink, she took it without a word and began sipping at it.

"You need stitches," Clint said slowly.

"Do it," Natasha commanded.

Sewing up the wound only took a few minutes, each side requiring less than five stitches. When he'd finished, Clint stood and washed his hands in the sink. It was the best he could do without soap. He gestured for Natasha to remain where she was and headed over to the bedroom.

With a lot of cursing, he managed to move the bed out of the room and over near the fireplace. He dug around in the wardrobe in the bedroom and found a couple of ratty blankets.

Natasha leaned on him heavily as they moved from the kitchen to the living room. A relieved sigh escaped her when she sank down onto the bed, the warmth from the fire helping to warm her slightly.

Clint draped a blanket over her and gave her a small smile, "Get some sleep."

While Natasha rested, Clint went to secure the area around the house, making sure that they weren't going to be caught and hoping that they would be able to survive in the cold with minimal resources. He thumbed at the phone in his pocket—turned off of course—and considered giving Phil a call. But he knew that as soon as he called the phone would be traced and they'd have to run for it. No, it was better to keep the phone for real emergencies.

A sharp cry had him rushing back to the house to find Natasha sitting straight up in the bed and panting with a wild look in her eyes.

"Romanoff," Clint called. "It's okay. We're fine."

She swung a knife at him as he approached.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed as he jumped out of reach. "Romanoff, calm down."

Her eyes remained focused on some remnant of the dream.

"Natasha," Clint snapped.

Natasha's gaze zeroed in on him and he felt relieved as her breathing began to even out.

"Sorry," Natasha muttered.

Clint shrugged, "It's fine. You just startled me with the knife swing. You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head emphatically.

Moving to sit on the bed, Clint glanced at her sideways, "Sometimes it helps…"

Natasha sighed, "Nothing new. Just memories of the Red Room. It doesn't help that I know they're coming after me…"

The assassins sat in silence for a while.

"Barton," Natasha finally said.

Clint turned to get a read on her, unable to place her tone. The hopeless, dull glint in her eyes made him cringe internally. "Yeah?"

"If they catch up to us," she began, stopping to take a deep breath. "Promise me you'll take me out before they can get me."

Clint flinched at her words, "Romanoff…"

"Please," she whispered.

He'd never heard her ask for something like that before, "I— It won't come to that."

Natasha shook her head, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Natasha," Clint practically growled, turning to face her fully. "I promise that I won't let it come to that. You're not going back to them. We're going to stop them and HYDRA and while we're at it hopefully figure out who set us up from SHIELD."

Natasha smiled slightly.

"What?" Clint asked when he noticed her expression.

She bit her lip thoughtfully, debating if she should be honest with him or not, "I'm not used to hearing my first name… I kind of like it…"

Clint grinned but didn't do any more to acknowledge her admission. He knew she was already feeling uncomfortable, "Well before we're able to do any of that, you need to heal up a bit."

Natasha sighed and lay down once again. Her hand shot out and grabbed Clint's arm, loosening only when he tensed. Her voice was full of vulnerability when she spoke, "Stay. Please. I'm afraid the dreams will come back."

Clint moved to settle on the bed next to her, not touching, just close enough to wake her if the nightmares came back. He didn't mean to fall asleep but woke up an hour later, shivering with cold. The fire had died to little more than embers and Natasha had both blankets. He noticed that she was trembling from the cold as well. He moved efficiently to stoke the fire, adding a few more logs to it.

When he turned back to the bed he saw Natasha's green eyes were open, staring at him.

He threw her a cocky smirk to hide his worry, "Now I hate to sound like a cliché, but if we want to be warm we're going to need to share our body heat…"

Natasha rolled her eyes but nodded, "Fine. But if you try anything funny I'll cut off your jewels."

Clint would have been worried if her words had any venom in them, instead they just sounded tired. He settled back into the bed, this time under the blankets with Natasha, and wrapped his arms around her. He tried not to jostle her wound at all but knew he'd failed when she tensed. A moment later, Natasha relaxed against him.

"You know," Clint said after a few moments of silence. "When I was a kid I thought roughing it would be fun."

"And now?" Natasha prompted.

Clint snorted, "Now I know that it sucks. You're too cold or too hot, there's never enough to eat, and of course no showers."

Natasha chuckled, the vibrations running through her body so that Clint felt it more than heard it.

"It's only been a few hours," Clint continued. "And I'm already wishing for a nice hot shower."

"You and me both," Natasha replied, voice thick with exhaustion.

Several more minutes passed before Natasha spoke again, "Tell me a story."

Clint frowned in thought for a moment, surprised at her request, "What kind of story?"

"A happy one."

"A happy one…" he mused, wracking his brains for an option. He settled on telling her about the circus. "Have you ever been to the circus Natasha? It's quite the spectacle with the rides and games and food. Add in the animals and freaks and magic and you've got a kid's dream."

He looked down to see her eyes were closed.

"It's easy for a kid to get caught up in it all. I was ten when I picked up that bow in the prop tent. I'd been eyeing it for weeks and I just couldn't resist any longer. So I scooped up the old thing and some arrows and headed out to practice. Damn, it was hard work," Clint continued. "But it was fun. And I was good at it. I hit the target my first time, not in the center of course, but that arrow stuck into the outside ring. I practiced for two hours before anyone found me. It was Swordsman and he was pissed. Until he realized that I was hitting the target.

"That was when I became the Amazing Hawkeye. He decided to train me and turn me into the star of the circus. I was more than willing to do what he said if it meant I got to keep shooting. That bow felt so right in my hands and for a while, I was able to forget everything else when I shot. It was just me and the target."

Clint glanced down again at the woman in his arms. Her breathing was even and her eyes were closed, she'd fallen into a peaceful sleep at the moment. Clint lay awake for a while longer, trying not to think about his partner, but focusing on his happy memories of the circus. It was hard because they all seemed tainted by how his time there had ended…

* * *

When Natasha woke up the next morning, she realized that she'd had one of the best nights of sleep in a long time. But she still felt like she'd been hit by a truck. Everything ached, especially the bullet wound in her side. And the pounding in her head didn't bode well for anyone.

Clint returned to the room a few minutes after she had pushed herself into a sitting position, "Good morning sunshine."

"Укус меня," Natasha snarled.  _(Bite me.)_

Clint smirked, "Now don't give me any ideas."

"Я тебя ненавижу."  _(I hate you.)_

"Liar. You slept with me with last night and didn't kill me, and don't think I will ever let you forget it."

Her answering glare only made him chuckle.

"How are you feeling though?" Clint asked, in a serious tone.

"Like shit," Natasha admitted with a groan.

"Do you mind if I check on that bullet wound? Also, we've got some lovely MREs if you're hungry."

Natasha tugged her jacket off and allowed him to examine the wound in her side.

Clint's frown made it seem that it was less than pleasant to look at.

"Everything okay?" Natasha asked.

"It looks like it's healing well," Clint said. "Other than it being very inflamed… And it's warm to the touch."

"Okay, so it might be infected," Natasha said. "We only have MREs, and you're a morning person. Any other bad news?"

"Actually…"

"Seriously?"

"It's snowing pretty hard."

"What is up with us and getting stuck places during snow storms?" Natasha mused as she pulled herself out of bed.

"The good news is that things have actually warmed up thanks to the snow!" Clint chirped.

He helped his partner over to the kitchen table and began working to get breakfast ready, "So we should probably figure out our next move…"

"Probably."

"We can't go back to SHIELD until we've finished the mission, which now includes taking care of both HYDRA and Red Room assets while also destroying the smallpox. I'm hoping Phil can handle the last one for us."

"They're going to come after us. HYDRA, Red Room, and probably SHIELD. Our best option is going to be to take them out when they come after us. The problem is we have to do it before SHIELD finds us," Natasha said.

"Great, so what's the plan beyond wait for them to find us?"

"I'm not sure. For the moment, we'll have to wait out this storm here. Then we can try to find somewhere we can lure them and set up an ambush. With our minimal arms, it's probably our best chance of success," Natasha continued.

Clint gave her a dubious look, "So we've got nothing."

Natasha didn't reply.

"Our biggest problem in terms of time isn't going to be when they catch up to us, it's going to be supplies. We've only got enough MREs for another week. The water here is clean, so we're good there. But we may end up needing to head back early just so we don't starve."

"Great."

After breakfast, Clint cleaned up and helped Natasha back to the bed. He cracked the door open slightly and shook his head in dismay. It was starting to blizzard outside. He turned back to face his partner, "I'm going to get us some more wood. I don't want to go out when the blizzard hits full force and the last thing we want is the fire to go out."

Natasha nodded from her position, curled up on the bed. Her eyes were already starting to droop with sleep.

When Clint returned, he shook the snow out of his hair and stripped off the wet, outer layer of clothing he wore. After pulling a chair into the room and sitting by the fire to warm up for a bit, he decided that he would rest for a bit too. He lay down on the bed next to Natasha, careful not to touch her without permission.

The archer awoke to a wet cough from Natasha. He watched her for a moment, flinching when another round of violent hacking shook her body. He reached out tentatively, afraid his partner was going to awaken and try to kill him for touching her. It was even more worrying when she didn't respond at all.

Her skin was dry and hot to the touch. Another wet cough racked her body.

"Romanoff," Clint called, withdrawing his hand and trying to wake her up. "Romanoff, wake up."

She didn't stir.

"Natasha," he commanded softly, hoping her first name would help wake her up. "Nat, you've gotta get up."

She shifted slightly and forced her eyes open, "Did you just call me Nat?"

Clint shrugged, "I needed you to wake up."

"Why?" she groaned, sounding completely miserable.

"Because we've got to get your temperature down. I need you to drink some water and take a few ibuprofen if we have them."

Natasha frowned, "I'm fine."

Clint sighed and turned to look at her, "No you're not. If we had a thermometer I could show you just how not fine you are. But let me just put it this way: you're burning up, you didn't react to me calling your name, and you didn't respond at all when I touched you."

Natasha's eyes widened slightly, she couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her and she hadn't known about it…

"Please, Natasha," Clint said. "Just let me do this for you. Trust me to take care of you."

She started to argue before closing her mouth and nodded. His voice bled sincerity as his eyes shown with honesty. At some point, she just had to take a leap of faith.

"Fine," Natasha grumbled. "But I still say I don't feel that bad."

Clint looked up, "Is this how I sound? Am I this stubborn and annoying? Because if so, I really need to apologize to Phil and Sanders…"

Natasha found herself wishing for something to throw at him. She cursed herself a moment later when she realized that she had knives hidden all over her body. Maybe she did need some help if she couldn't even keep track of that fact…

* * *

It took three more days of Clint waiting on Natasha while he waited for the storm to pass before her fever broke. Several times in those three days, he'd been tempted to call Phil and tell him their location. They might end up in serious trouble, but at least she'd get some real medical care. The only reason he held off was because he had to believe that Natasha was going to pull through. On the second day, he determined that if she wasn't getting better in the next twenty-four hours, he was calling.

Luckily, her fever broke, although the hacking cough remained.

Clint stepped back into the living room and studied his partner as she climbed out of bed.

"We should get going," she told him.

"Let's give it a few more hours for the storm to completely clear us," Clint replied easily.

Natasha looked at him before shaking her head, "Fine. But we need to be ready to go right away."

"We don't have a whole lot of stuff with us. We haven't even been here a week."

She made her way to the kitchen, slowly, weak from her fever and the bullet in her side. It had become even more inflamed in the intervening days between her receiving it and finally getting out of bed.

Clint didn't like how slowly she was moving. He knew that they would need every skill they had to take out the rest of HYDRA and the Red Room. First step would be surveillance. He stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe with arms crossed, "You know, we need to do some surveillance before we can do anything. We need to know what we're working against."

"I know," Natasha admitted after a moment, setting her water on the counter. "I just want to get this over with so we can leave Russia. That bad feeling still hasn't gone away…"

Clint nodded, "I know what you mean. But we can't screw this up. We have to finish this or we're going to end up dead, and honestly, I'd really like you to pass this insane test that the Council has decided you need."

She gave him a small smile, "Okay, surveillance. You have a suggestion for how we do that?"

"Let's keep an eye on the compound for a few hours today. We'll see if they're still there or if they've gone elsewhere. We can also check out the nearby village and make sure they aren't doing anything there. The biggest thing is that we find out what and whom we're up against."

Natasha nodded, "Okay. So how many days should we do that for?"

"As many as we need to," Clint replied. "And we can keep using this place as a base until we think it's been compromised."

"I don't like the idea of staying here," Natasha said.

Clint shrugged, "Okay, then you need to figure out where else we can go. We got lucky finding this place, but if you think we need to go elsewhere we can."

Natasha deflated a bit, "We'll stay until we find somewhere else."

In the week the assassins spent running further surveillance on their quarries, Natasha's cough worsened dramatically. She could hardly speak without falling into a fit of wet hacks and after walking for too long her breathing became labored. Clint tried to keep his mouth shut because he knew his worrying wasn't helping anything, only making Natasha mad at him.

The biggest issue wasn't that her cough had the potential to give them away on surveillance or sneak attacks (they stayed far enough away to avoid most of the threat). No, it was that physically the Black Widow was not doing well. Walking to and from the HYDRA base every day exhausted her. Clint was beginning to doubt that she'd be well enough to help in the final assault.

Sitting up straighter, he leaned across the rickety kitchen table they sat at as she finished the last of her soup. He'd managed to kill a deer and trade some of the meat for potatoes and seasoning down in the village. He'd have to try hunting again soon if they didn't get out of the cabin.

"We need to make our move this week," Clint said.

Natasha nodded, "I agree. Our biggest problem right now is the lack of arms, but if we manage to get a gun or two off of HYDRA I think we'll be fine."

"I've been thinking about that," Clint admitted. "I have a discrete way to contact Phil, a way that SHIELD doesn't know about. He could probably give us any backups left in the safe house."

She considered the option for a moment, weighing the pros and cons, "If you trust him, it's worth a shot."

"Okay, so assuming we've got guns and explosives going in, what next?"

Natasha stared at the table for a moment, scrutinizing the map they'd carved into the wood of the compound after the fire. It seemed that HYDRA wasn't willing or able to move at this point, which was actually working to their advantage. And the patrols looking for the assassins grew more infrequent everyday.

"We're up against at least sixty HYDRA agents and two Red Room," Natasha pointed out.

After Shchitt's failure, the Red Room had sent two more in his place, one was just a guard when Natasha had been there, the other had been in the class above her.

"Erika will pose the biggest threat, though Vlad shouldn't be discounted entirely," she continued. "Our best option will be to attack during the day, when they least expect it. I can handle Erika and Vlad if you can keep the HYDRA guards away from me."

"If I cause a distraction over by their science building, that should draw everyone out," Clint suggested.

"As long as I've already engaged Erika, she won't come running to that or be able to call for help."

"We need a time when we know she'll be alone and reachable..."

Natasha ran through the last few days of surveillance, trying to think of a time that met those requirements, "Around one in the afternoon she's been going to the roof of one of the outer buildings and watching the patrols return. I can catch her there, unaware."

"What about the returning patrols?" Clint asked.

"We'll have to take them out before we go to the compound. They leave early in the morning and we know they don't report back anymore during the patrol. If we knock all of them out, that's fewer agents to deal with and we don't have to worry about anyone coming to interfere with Erika and I."

Clint nodded, "Sounds good to me. In four days we should make our move."

"Will you be able to handle the distraction and all those agents?" Natasha asked, voice almost tinged with worry.

Her partner smirked at her, "Trust me, I get enough arrows and they won't stand a chance. Worse case scenario, I grab a gun and start shooting. I can handle them until you get there to help me out. You gonna be okay to deal with Erika?"

Natasha shrugged, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Clint rolled his eyes, "I'm not blind, you're cough is definitely taking a toll, and you're still not healed from that bullet wound..."

"I've had worse," she replied nonchalantly. "I can take her."

Clint didn't argue further and instead stood up, "I'm going to see if I can contact Phil, get him to help us out a bit. Also, I'm thinking we should give him a bit of a heads up before we make our move so he can at least be mobilizing a SHIELD team to help when we go in."

Natasha nodded and watched as he left the cabin.

Clint threaded his way through the trees, heading back towards the safe house and trying not to leave much of a trail. It helped that the snow was starting to melt and footprints weren't staying for long.

When he came within sight of the safe house, he slowed and made a wide arc around it, making sure he didn't miss any signs of perimeter security. He wouldn't have been surprised if SHIELD had sent in another agent to assist Phil in tracking down the assassins. He had to make sure that only Phil saw anything out of the ordinary.

Satisfied that the house was empty for the moment, he went to work, making a message out of branches and rocks. The code he used was one they'd developed while working in China two years ago, with each layout representing a need or a location. He hoped Phil would remember it and recognize it for what it was. To anyone else, it looked like a random pile of rocks and twigs.

After leaving the message, he hurried back to his partner, not wanting to leave her alone for too long in her weakened conditioned (not that he'd ever tell her that).

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please drop me a comment :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “You’re going to be okay,” Clint said sincerely. “You just gotta stay with me for a few more minutes.”
> 
> Natasha coughed, blood flaking her lips.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Fury_Natalia and callista51 for commenting. To answer Fury_Natalia's question, they'll be together by the end of this week (chapter 23 if I recall correctly) :)
> 
> Sorry for the delay in updating, I got caught up with family stuff yesterday and completely spaced this morning.

_Waverly, Iowa — 1992_

Clint found himself cornered in the back area of the playground, where the teachers couldn't see him, once again. It was the third time this week. And of course, he was outnumbered three to one. He wished Barney had the same recess as him. Barney would have saved him from the bullies.

"Come on," Max, the leader, jeered. "Say it."

"No," Clint said, clenching his fists. He didn't want to give into the bullies again.

Nathan stepped forward, a hulking fourth grader, he towered over the small, second grader. He threw a bunch directly into Clint's abdomen, making the air rush out of him in a whoosh.

"You can't do that!" Clint huffed out a moment later.

Max sneered, "What are you gonna do? Tell your mom?"

His posse laughed on cue.

"That's right," Max chuckled. "You can't because you don't have a mommy anymore. You gonna go home and cry about it?"

Brenden decided to throw in his own jibe, "He can't. He doesn't have a home. He has to go back to the orphanage."

The bullies laughed again.

Clint tried to walk away from them, moving back towards the playground and the safety of the teachers. At least Max and his friends wouldn't hit him in front of the teachers.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded Max.

"I wanna go play," Clint declared, sticking his chin out stubbornly.

"You don't get to go anywhere until you say it!" Max commanded.

Nathan raised his fist in warning

Clint felt his lower lip beginning to tremble. He didn't want to say it. But they were going to hurt him if he didn't. He just wanted to go play. He didn't want to get hit anymore…

"Is he going to cry?" Brenden sneered. "What a big baby!"

"I'm not crying!" Clint declared. "And I'm not going to say it! No matter what you do, I won't say it!"

Five minutes later, Clint was on the ground, curled into a ball and moaning in pain. When the teachers found him, they were horrified and wanted to know what had happened. He didn't say anything as they loaded him into an ambulance. The repeated punches and kicks had ruptured his appendix.

* * *

_HYDRA Compound, Siberia, Russia—2008_

Natasha covered her mouth as she coughed, shivering against the chill wind that blew across the rooftop towards her. She dug her hands further into her pockets and hunched her shoulders against the cold. She'd been awake since before dawn, woken by a coughing fit and unable to fall back asleep because of the crackling in her chest. Luckily Clint had managed to sleep a bit longer. They'd then spent their morning packing up the supplies Phil had acquired for them and moving out towards the HYDRA compound. Taking out the patrols had been easy enough, but she could feel the fighting beginning to take a toll on her already weakened body.

Another cough surged through her chest, exacerbating the healing bullet wound and making her double over to lessen the pain. Breathing hard, Natasha straightened and looked over the edge of the rooftop. A smirk graced her lips as she stepped away from the edge in order to be less noticeable. Erika was on her way over. It was time to end this.

Natasha pulled off her outer coat, knowing that she wouldn't be able to move as much as she needed to in the bulky layer. The wind bit into her skin viciously. She shivered and let out a small curse. She really hoped her fever wouldn't choose to make a reappearance after this. A glance across the compound brought Clint's location into view. She watched it carefully for the distraction.

A massive explosion shook the compound, nearly knocking Natasha down as the building she stood upon shook. She cursed again, wondering if the idiot archer had managed to blow up the building she was on. Luckily, the world stabilized and she was able to see the smoke curling up from the main building. People rushed out of it as it began to crumble around them. Natasha made a mental note to minimize Clint's access to explosives. He was scary good at using them.

A second detonation took out two of the buildings near Clint's location. Natasha caught sight of him, raining arrows down on the men below while also setting up to blast the last building standing in that area.

People streamed out of the building Natasha stood on, rushing to help. Good, she didn't want to risk anyone interfering in her fight with Erika.

"Well, well, well," a sultry voice drawled from behind her. "If it isn't the infamous Black Widow."

Natasha turned away from the carnage to face the woman, "Hello Erika."

"You know," Erika said conversationally, shedding her own overcoat. "You've made quite a mess for Ivan. He sent me to make sure you don't get a chance to do it again."

The third explosion shook the building again, but Natasha remained standing. Shock flashed through Erika's eyes as she stumbled slightly. She hadn't expected another charge.

"I see you've found yourself a partner," Erika snarled, trying to hide her anger. "It's too bad he's going to die. The world will lose two of its most talented assassins."

Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled out a knife from the sheath at her back, "Don't get too cocky Erika, we both know that you've never beaten me before. What makes now any different?"

Erika withdrew her own knife and launched herself towards Natasha, snarling as she fell upon the other woman.

Natasha swung her arm up to block Erika's attack with the knife. She nearly collapsed when the full weight of the woman crashed down on top of her. Natasha was weaker than she'd thought. She had to end this quickly.

Rolling, Natasha managed to land on top of Erika and break the woman's nose as she rose to her feet. Erika shook her head, ignoring the blood streaming down her face, Erika pushed herself back up and advanced again, this time wary of her adversary.

"You're blows aren't nearly as hard as they were before," Erika taunted. "Are you going soft? Working for the 'good guys' can do that to you."

Natasha refused to respond, knowing it would waste precious energy that she didn't have. This time, she was the one who engaged the other woman. A swift kick towards Erika's side was deflected but the knife swing managed to get under her guard, scoring a shallow wound down the underside of Erika's bicep. Another kick followed to the woman's knee, making her crumple. Natasha flipped over her head, using her shoulder as a handhold, and landed behind, moving forward to place her knife at the woman's neck.

Erika spun around, recovering quickly from the attack. She threw her knife at Natasha, making the red head abandon her attack in order to dodge. Heading back towards the center of the roof, Erika pulled out another knife and took deep steadying breaths, slightly labored from her broken nose.

It took more effort than it should have for Natasha to keep the shaking invisible as she pulled herself up to stand across from Erika. She also withdrew another knife. She watched the woman for a moment before deciding to attack again. The two blades sailed through the air towards Erika, weak throws, but that was the point.

Erika stepped nimbly aside, her face twisted into a mask of arrogance while she watched the knives sail past, "That's it?"

Natasha's dark chuckle made Erika's attention return to the fight, only to find her enemy had rushed forward after throwing the knives, "Come on Erika, just surrender and I'll make it a quick death."

Erika growled, "When I kill you, I'll make sure you suffer."

Natasha shrugged before kicking out again, this time aiming for Erika's torso. The woman hadn't expected the attack and failed to block it, instead she took the kick to her ribs, wincing as a few of them cracked. Natasha didn't let up the attack, moving in close to strike at Erika with her knife. The blade scraped across the woman's face, across her cheek, lips, and chin.

Another shallow wound, but it caused Erika to make a fatal mistake. She raised her hands to block the next attack to her face, thereby missing the knife flung at her diaphragm. It took a moment before Erika realized what had happened. She lowered her hands and stumbled back a step, looking up at Natasha in shock, "You-you stabbed me..."

Natasha almost felt pity for the woman in front of her, "Yes. I told you I was going to kill you."

Erika's eyes widened as Natasha lashed out with a final kick, she tried to make a counter attack but found herself unbalanced and plummeting over the edge of the building. A dull thump echoed up towards Natasha, telling her she'd been successful.

She stepped away from the edge of the building, shaking with adrenaline, cold, and fatigue. She stumbled when dizziness suddenly made an appearance. Glancing down at her side she swore, her bullet wound had reopened and was bleeding profusely. She ripped open a pocket on her discarded coat to withdraw gloves and a scarf. She used the scarf to tie the gloves around her side, pulling the knot tight.

Satisfied the bandage would hold long enough, she turned and hurried down the stairs of the building. She stopped briefly beside Erika's body to retrieve her knife and ensure the woman was dead. Then Natasha began running along the compound, hurrying to help her partner.

* * *

Clint forced himself not to worry as he set off the charges around the facility. He knew that he had the harder job, handling the entire base, while all Natasha had to do was take out one operative.

Firing his arrows was automatic as he faced the hordes of HYDRA agents closing in on his location. He'd chosen to stay close to the smallpox building, hoping it would prevent HYDRA's use of heavy artillery. His vantage point was among a pile of empty crates sitting outside the building. The crates provided cover from the bullets raining down around him.

It didn't take long before Clint really began to worry about the fight. He was going through arrows far quicker than he wanted to, even with efforts to recover them. He had even stopped using his bow for a bit, in favor of one of HYDRAs machine guns. Even more troubling to Clint than the lack of ammunition, was the lack of Natasha.

Five more minutes, Clint reasoned with himself. Five minutes until he needed to go find his partner.

Three minutes and fifty-four seconds later, a flash of red caught Clint's attention across the battlefield. He blew out a breath of relief as Natasha made her way through the crowd of HYDRA agents, striking without warning and with far more speed than they could comprehend.

When Natasha reached Clint the HYDRA agents were only first beginning to realize that they ought to be targeting the woman.

Clint took the handful of arrows she offered him with a stunned expression, "Thank you."

She gave him a tired smile in reply, quickly covering her mouth to cough.

Clint used the momentary calm to study her, seeing how she was after her fight with Erika. A small bruise was forming on her chin and his eyebrows shot up when he saw the makeshift bandage at her side.

"It's nothing I can't handle," Natasha told him stubbornly when she noticed his gaze.

Meeting her eyes, Clint made clear his disapproval before nodding once.

"Shall we?" Clint gestured towards the agents advancing toward the crates.

Natasha grinned and pulled one of the guns she had acquired off her shoulder.

A rain of bullets took out the majority of the two groups of agents charging at the barrier. Precise arrows took out the rest. Silence filled the compound.

"How many left?" Clint asked Natasha, knowing her recent foray through their ranks would have given there an accurate estimate.

She shrugged, "Around fifty."

Clint nodded and stood, firing an explosive arrow at the truck a group had taken cover behind. Natasha shot any of the agents who had survived the fireball as they scrambled away.

"Forty-two," Clint said with a grim smile. "You know, we make a pretty good team…"

Natasha didn't respond, unwilling to lie or agree with the truth in his words.

A few moments later, another group of agents, about fifteen in number, made another attempt at storming Clint and Natasha's hiding spot. This time, they were smart enough to have their comrades lay down cover fire.

"They're learning," Natasha remarked, aiming carefully around a crate.

Clint grinned as she fired, "Not fast enough."

HYDRA made two more attempts to get to the assassins, failing both times and lowering their number to eight. The eight surviving agents must have been the smart ones, because they spread out and started using rubble for cover.

Clint sighed and nocked an arrow, "I'll go right, you go left?"

Natasha was already moving, she threw a feral grin back at him, "Race you."

Clint swore as his brain shorted out for a moment, distracted by his growing attraction to his partner.

He made his way around the area slowly, making sure not to miss anything or anyone as he approached each target. The four fell quickly and he stepped out around the corner of the final building.

Frowning, Clint took two steps forward. Natasha should have beaten him, yet she was nowhere to be found.

A moment later she stumbled out from a pile of rubble, hand clutched to her side as the HYDRA agent pressed his advantage.

Clint raced forward as Natasha tumbled to the ground. His last arrow ripped through the man's neck and out the other side to embed itself in a wall. Clint ignored the dead man's fall and dropped to his knees next to his partner, his bow falling to the ground beside him.

Blood had soaked through the bandage she'd created from her gloves. Clint pulled it away with one hand, fumbling for his phone with the other.

"Fuck," he cursed when he noticed the small bloodstain near her previous bullet wound, "Natasha."

Natasha jerked out of unconsciousness as he pulled his jacked off, folding it up and pressing it against her abdomen.

He used his free hand to dial Coulson.

"Agent Coulson," the man greeted formally.

Clint swore silently, that meant someone else was there. He forced himself to follow protocol, "Hawkeye and Black Widow, reporting mission success. HYDRA neutralized. We need emergency med evac now, the Widow is down."

"An extraction team is on the way."

"We need a med team stat," Clint snarled. "Widow is sick, recovering from a GSW, and has been stabbed."

"ETA ten minutes."

The call disconnected and Clint offered a silent prayer to a deity he didn't believe in that Natasha would survive the next ten minutes.

"Natasha," he demanded. "Look at me."

Her green eyes opened to meet his.

"You're going to be okay," Clint said sincerely. "You just gotta stay with me for a few more minutes."

Natasha coughed, blood flaking her lips. Her breath was labored when the wheezes subsided. Clint pushed down harder, ignoring the sensation of her blood on his hands. Her eyes began to fall shut again.

"You stay awake, dammit," Clint snarled.

She forced her eyes open, choking out a word between each shallow breath, "Don't. Tell. Me. What. To. Do."

Clint tried for a smile. It came out weaker than he'd intended. His voice turned conversational in an attempt to distract Natasha, "You know, I've been thinking, it might be good for me to teach you to use my bow…"

Natasha tried to glare but felt herself slipping back into blissful unconsciousness.

"Natasha?" Clint asked.

"Can't."

Clint started shouting at his partner when her eyes slipped closed. He found himself full of fear that he might never see her eyes open again. Pushing his emotions aside to deal with later, he focused on doing what he could in the moment.

Helicopters approaching drew his attention to the sky. A few moments later, three helicopters landed and SHIELD agents were swarming through the compound.

Coulson jogged over to the assassins, followed by a team of medical staff.

"What do we got?" the head doctor demand.

Clint responded automatically, "Two week old GSW, illness—possibly pneumonia, bloody cough and knife wound are new."

The med techs pushed Clint out of the way as they moved in, working to move Natasha onto the gurney.

"Let's get her on board," the head tech commanded. "Blood transfusion, antibiotics, and stats."

"Barton," Coulson said, reaching out to his agent.

"Don't," Clint snarled. He snatched up his bow and followed the medical staff onto the helicopter.

Coulson's sigh went unnoticed as he entered the helicopter.

Ten minutes out from the HYDRA compound, the machines surrounding Natasha began beeping. The med techs flew into a frenzy of motion.

"O2 stats low."

"BP and pulse dropping."

"She's going into shock."

"Get the defib ready."

"She's in cardiac arrest."

The doctor's cut away what remained of Natasha's shirt and bra.

"Charging."

"Clear."

Natasha convulsed as the shock passed through her body.

"Nonresponsive. Again."

"Charging."

"Clear."

Clint's hands fisted in his hair as he watched the second attempt fail.

"Again."

"Charging."

"Clear."

Clint felt himself spiraling downward at the idea of losing Natasha.

A solid beep sounded, silencing the others.

"We've got her back. Someone get me an OR now, we need to get her stabilized."

* * *

_Hospital, Russia—2008_

Clint sat motionless on the end of the hospital bed as a nurse worked to stitch up the bullet crease on his arm. He hadn't even noticed it between the adrenaline of the fight and his worry for Natasha.

His head snapped up when Coulson entered the curtained area.

The nurse finished and stepped out with a stern glare at Clint.

Clint remained silent.

"They're finishing up now," Coulson offered, trying to reach his agent.

No response.

"They said it went well despite the complications…"

"What complications?

"Fluid in her lungs from the pneumonia. And she flat-lined again while on the table…" Phil said after a moment.

Clint looked up, meeting this friend's eyes, doing nothing to mask his pain and desperation, "Will she be okay?"

Phil sighed and moved to grip Clint's shoulder, "They're moving her to the ICU, we can go see her."

"Is she okay?" Clint asked again.

"She's got good chances, knowing that she's out of surgery. The next twenty-four hours are the most crucial," Phil said.

Clint stood and began to head out of the ward.

"Clint," Phil called. "Why do you care so much?"

"She's my partner. And I shouldn't have ever let her get so bad. I should have called you sooner."

"This isn't on you. It's on the bastard who sold us out."

Clint didn't reply.

Phil sighed again and patted Clint's shoulder, "Come on."

Even Phil had to admit that seeing Natasha lying in a hospital bed seemed wrong. He hadn't realized how small she was, how young, until that moment. Her petite form looked positively childlike, surrounded by tubes and machines.

A glance over at Clint gave Phil a new set of worries. In the moment it took for Clint to lockdown his emotions, Phil saw everything. It seemed like his world spun around the woman lying in the bed.

Clint moved to the chair beside her, pulling it closer.

A doctor walked in and glared when he saw the two men, "Family only."

Coulson reached for his badge.

Clint turned his hollow eyes to the man, "We're probably the only people in the world who give two shits about her. We're not leaving."

The doctor looked confused and somewhat mollified.

Flashing his badge, Phil stepped forward, "We work for the same agency and have medical jurisdiction over Agent Romanoff. Please, tell us what you know."

"Several cracked ribs—only some from defib—numbers cuts and contusions, a healing GSW, and the stab wound left her in pretty bad shape," the doctor began. "But after surgery, she seems to be doing well. If all goes as planned, we'll be able to get her breathing on her own in the next couple hours and she'll wake up in the next day or so."

Clint looked somewhat comforted by the news.

"When can she be moved?" Phil asked, already making plans to get his agents to a secure location.

"Not anytime soon," the doctor stated.

"She will receive the best medical treatment available," Phil said calmly. "So let me ask you again, when can she be moved?"

The doctor remained silent for a moment to examine Coulson's resolve. Finally he sighed, "The earliest would be after she wakes up. But there's no guarantee. I would advise against moving her in the next week."

"Thank you, doctor," Phil nodded curtly. "We'll take that into consideration."

* * *

Within the next few hours, Natasha had improved drastically according to the various nurses and doctors traipsing in and out. They'd taken her off the ventilator and moved her out of the ICU. She'd be waking up soon.

Clint refused to leave her side through it all.

When Phil returned from setting up Natasha's transfer he moved over to Clint, making sure the archer saw him, "Clint."

"What?"

"We need to talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Phil gave a pointed took to the woman lying in the room, "I think there is."

"Well you're wrong," Clint shot back.

Phil sighed in exasperation, "You're mad at me."

"That has nothing to do with my reticence here."

"Then what does?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Clint replied evenly, not meeting his friend's eyes but rather watching Natasha.

"Fine," Phil said in defeat. "We are going to talk about the mission though. Sitwell wants to debrief you and Romanoff as soon as she wakes up."

"Sitwell?"

"New guy, moving his way up the ranks. The Council sent him to 'assist' me when you two decided to go AWOL," Phil explained. "Care to fill in the blanks?"

Clint shrugged, "Not much to fill in. We were sold out when we went after the facility and had grossly underestimated their numbers. Romanoff got shot on our way out and we realized that we couldn't go back to the safe house on the off chance they knew about that or were following us. So we decided to make sure the mission was finished. We spent most of our time holed up in an abandoned cabin. Romanoff got sick, but we still planned and then went after the base, this time we were prepared."

Phil nodded, "Pretty straightforward. I think we can spin it enough to make sure you both avoid getting in trouble for disappearing."

The conversation lulled before Phil spoke again, "Tell me about the fight at the compound."

"We split up so Romanoff could handle the Red Room liaison, Erika, without outside interference. While she did that, I staged a distraction and worked to keep the agents occupied…" he hesitated a moment before continuing. "Honestly, Phil, I wasn't going to succeed if she hadn't shown up when she did. I was low on ammo and had no way out. She probably just made things worse for herself by coming in to help me."

Phil squeezed Clint's shoulder, "She's going to be okay. And loath though I am to admit it, she has proven herself a relatively competent partner for you."

"You mean she hasn't killed me or let me be killed yet?" Clint joked.

Phil smiled at the attempt at humor, "Exactly."

A moment later, he spoke again, "Fury is already looking into what went wrong."

Clint gave a wry smile, "We all know he's not going to find anything. And even if he did, I would be surprised if the Council lets him do anything about it."

Movement from Natasha's bed drew the men's attention from their conversation. She blinked, eyes struggling to focus. Clint moved closer to the bed, a bit confused by her un-alert manner.

"I'll get the doctor and make sure we're ready for transport," Phil said, striding out of the room.

"Welcome back, Nat," Clint said, reaching out slowly to take her hand. "You gave us quite a scare."

"Clint?" she asked, trying to focus through the drug induced haze. "What happened?"

He frowned, worried about her lack of memory, "Do you remember the fight?"

She nodded, unconsciously squeezing Clint's hand as the little bit of motion sent waves of pain and nausea through her body, "We split up. I remember fighting my last guy… And then you showed up and pretty much everything after that is gone."

A relieved sigh escaped, no significant memory loss considering she'd been in and out of consciousness from that point on, "I took out the last guy and called for a med evac. You nearly bled out on the ground, then went into cardiac arrest in the helicopter."

"That explains my ribs," Natasha muttered, her words beginning to sound clearer.

"When we got here, you ended up flat lining again during the operation," Clint continued. "They fixed you up though and you've been recovering well since."

Drawing in air to speak triggered a fit of coughing. When it subsided she looked at Clint, her face incredibly unguarded, allowing her pain and misery to show, "How long?"

"Less than a day. You've got pneumonia by the way."

Natasha tried to push herself into a seated position. Clint stood and pushed her back down gently, "Sorry, sweetheart, but you're going to stay in bed for a while. At least until the doctor says otherwise."

She sent him a glare, made less terrifying when she coughed again.

The doctor marched into the room and over to the bed. He gave Clint a pointed look to move away and went about examining Natasha in brusque Russian. Natasha answered everything she was asked with cool detachment, not betraying any pain or emotion. The doctor switched back to English in order to address Coulson and Clint, "I still advise against moving her, but if you insist she can go. She's healed at an incredible rate…"

"Thank you," Phil said. "We'll be out of here within an hour."

The doctor turned to Natasha, "As the patient, it's ultimately your choice. Are you sure you want to be moved against medical advice?"

Natasha nodded, "I'm sure I'll be receiving excellent care. Thank you for your advice, doctor."

After the doctor left, Phil turned to Natasha, "It's good to see you awake. Our team will be here in ten minutes and we'll be on our way back to New York. We'll debrief on the plane."

Natasha nodded, "Yes, sir."

Phil nodded and strode out of the door with a final glance at Clint, unsure if leaving the two assassins was a good idea or not. He headed down to the first floor to await the arriving agents. Standing beside the main desk, he ran a hand over his face in exhaustion. His agents were far more stressful than he'd expected. And now he had to worry about Clint developing feelings for the woman. Beside the obvious conflict of interest in the field, Phil worried that Clint was going to get his heart broken. Natasha Romanoff was not the kind of woman to fall in love.

* * *

_Infirmary, SHIELD Base, New York — 2008_

Natasha wanted to kill Sanders she decided. She'd been confined to the infirmary since her return to New York. That was three days ago and she was already going crazy. It was bad enough that her broken ribs refused to heal as quickly as they normally did, mostly thanks to the cough that wouldn't go away. She was tired of being forced to drink copious amounts of liquid, always having someone hovering around her, and worst of all, constantly having an IV. She'd refused painkillers, but Sanderson had vetoed her and instructed she be given a small amount to help her sleep at night.

Natasha hated it and she hated him.

It didn't help that she was bored. She didn't keep any personal items in her SHIELD room, and she refused to give anyone permission to go to her apartment to bring her a book or movie. Instead, she spent her days observing the medical staff. Several of the nurses were terrified of her.

Clint's entrance to the ward provided her with a welcome distraction from the monotony of listening to the male nurses discuss their coworkers' sex lives.

"Don't kill me," Clint started with.

Natasha narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "What did you do?"

"I knew you were bored, but didn't want anyone to have access to your apartment," Clint said, trying for a cheerful smile. "So I went over there and got you some stuff."

"You did what?" Natasha asked in shock. How dare he think he could just break into her apartment? How dare he touch her things? She moved to get out of bed.

Clint held up his hands in surrender, "Please don't be mad. I didn't touch anything other than the few things I grabbed. And I promise I'll only break into your apartment in cases of emergency, which I deemed this was. I had a feeling that you and Sanders were both pretty close to snapping…"

Natasha hesitated before letting the some of her ire drain away, "What did you bring?"

"Some normal clothes," he said, offering up a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. "I didn't try to find any undergarments though…"

He held up a book, " _Jane Eyre_? I wasn't sure what you were reading or wanted to read so I just picked one. And then we've got your computer, complete with headphones and a selection of movies that I insist you watch at some point."

She rolled her eyes in response but settled back onto her pillows and accepted the items from him. After a moment, she looked up, "Thank you."

Clint beamed at the genuine gratitude in her voice, "So based on what Sanders told me, they hope you'll be able to leave the infirmary by the end of the week. They'll keep you on base, but it's better than being stuck here. I figure when you're finally free to return to your apartment we can get back to your cultural education."

"Maybe I don't want to continue my 'cultural education,'" Natasha challenged. "Perhaps we should focus on  _your_  cultural education."

Clint smirked, "We both know that I am plenty cultured."

Natasha snorted in derision and opened her book.

Her partner managed to sit still for all of five minutes before he began fidgeting with the edge of her blanket and tapping the rail on the bed with his nails.

"What?" Natasha demanded after a moment, refusing to allow him to annoy her for too long. She just wanted to relax and read now that she had a book.

"I think you should learn how handle my weapon," Clint blurted.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow at his strange, somewhat dirty phrasing.

"Not what I meant. I mean, archery."

She thought for a moment before nodding once, "Fine. But only if you learn how to throw a knife properly. It's embarrassing watching you."

"Hey, my knife throwing is perfectly fine!"

"Yeah, for a circus performer."

Clint huffed in mock annoyance and settled back into his chair. He was soon twitching again, with a prolonged sigh he began speaking, "Can we spring you from this place? I'm bored."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Sanders threatened to drug me into oblivion if I tried to escape. He then said if you help he'll make sure you get desk duty for a month."

"Might be worth it," Clint muttered sullenly as he resumed his pouting.

Natasha snorted, "Yeah, you on desk duty for a month would be such a pleasant experience for everyone."

"You know, this is your fault?"

"How?"

"You just had to get shot and then get pneumonia. And if that wasn't bad enough, you then insisted that we finish the mission, which resulted in you getting stabbed and beaten."

Natasha shrugged, "And I'm paying the consequences."

"So I am. It's not fair," Clint pouted.

Natasha smiled at his childishness and looked down to her book, "You're the one who decided not to kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love hearing what you all think in the comments :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “So today I’m going to teach you how to shoot,” Clint declared.
> 
> Natasha swallowed her bite of pancakes, “Why?”
> 
> He shrugged, “Why not?”
> 
> “Because I don’t use a medieval weapon in the field,” she replied sweetly.
> 
> Clint narrowed his eyes, “Shut up and eat your pancakes. We can go when we finish.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Fury_Natalia and Karolina94 for commenting.

_SHIELD Base, New York — 2004_

Clint stumbled back into his bunkroom, exhausted from a day spent training with Patrick and a bunch of junior agents. He'd sparred against all of the agents (in various group sizes), ran over ten miles, done several different weight routines, and then done some more sparring and running. He hadn't been this tired in a long time. It felt good and he hoped it would be enough to let him get a full night of sleep.

And it had been good to keep busy and therefore keep his mind away from his handler. He had really hoped Phil would acknowledge that today was his one-year anniversary with SHIELD. If anyone could understand the amount of growth he'd undergone in the last year to turn himself from Hawkeye the contract assassin to Hawkeye the government agent, it would be Phil. But he'd seen no sign of the man all day.

It's fine, he told himself. It's not like I care.

Clint gathered his towel from where it hung on the end of his bed and headed into the bathroom. Once his bunkmates had left (they thought he was disturbing and dangerous), he'd found himself able to enjoy a private, ensuite bathroom.

Passing his bed on the way to the door, he froze and scrutinized the box sitting on it.

He hadn't put it there. Glancing around the chaos of the room, he saw that nothing else had been disturbed. And technically, the box hadn't been disturbed, just left in his room. Who else had access to his room? he wondered.

Fury seemed unlikely, why any of the other guys would have returned was a mystery, so that left Phil.

Allowing himself to relax, Clint walked over to the bed and picked up the box with a slight smile. Maybe the man hadn't forgotten after all…

Clint opened the box and found himself warmed by the touching gift inside. Only a week ago, he'd been complaining about needing to get new arm guards and how it was always a hassle to find ones that he liked. Inside the box sat a beautiful, apparently custom-made, leather set of arm guards. Clint pulled them out and slid them on, flexing his hands and arms, reveling in the way the material creaked and felt. They were perfect.

He sat for a moment longer before stripping the guards off and heading for the door, all thoughts of a shower forgotten. If Phil had gotten him something so nice, it was only fair that he return the favor, Clint reasoned.

And he knew just what he was going to do. He just happened to know a guy who dealt with rare items, especially rare cards. With any luck, he'd be able to get Phil a new Captain America trading card…

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York — 2008_

Natasha awoke with a scream and tears streaming down her face. She clapped a hand over her mouth in order to stifle the sound of her whimpers. She prayed that no one had heard her. It was good that Clint had been sent out on a solo mission a few days before, just after her release from the infirmary. She refused to admit that she missed him.

Fighting to get her breathing back under control, she gathered a blanket around herself and moved into the living room. The couch sank beneath her weight as she stared out of the window, not seeing the darkness outside. Her eyes focused on the lingering images of her dreams and memories.

Slight noise outside the door drew her attention. A moment later it opened, revealing the shadowy outline of her partner.

"Natasha?" he asked as he walked in and saw her sitting there. He closed the door and flipped on the lights, dropping his bag to the floor.

She stared at him in the light, checking to see if he had any visible injuries.

Clint gave her a smile, tired smile, "I'm fine. It was an easy mission, didn't even have to get close to the guy. I'm just tired."

She nodded mutely, but her eyes never left his face.

Clint moved towards her, smile turning to a frown as he noticed her troubled gaze and tear streaked face, "Everything okay?"

"I can't sleep," she admitted after a moment.

The couch moved slightly as he sat down beside her, "Why not?"

A shrug was his only response.

"Natasha," he said, her name rolling smoothly off his tongue. "You know you can tell me."

"Nightmares," she finally said.

He nodded, "Those do generally suck. Do you want to talk about it?"

Natasha looked at him, "I trust you more than anyone else, you know that right?"

Clint nodded, trying not to let the warmth her words induced show.

"Then please understand when I say I can't."

"Okay," Clint said after a moment of studying her. He pushed himself up, "I'm going to take a shower. You going to be able to go back to sleep?"

Natasha only shrugged.

When he emerged from the shower a few minutes later he noticed the living room light was still on. With a sigh, Clint pulled on sweats and a t-shirt before moving out to the room. He ran his towel over his hair as he studied his partner. She hadn't moved from her position.

"Are you going to stay out here for the rest of the night?" he asked.

She shrugged again.

Tossing his towel carelessly behind him, he moved over to her and scooped her up in his arms. Natasha tensed immediately, ready to strike. He knew the only reasons she hadn't already killed him were that she was surprised and actually did trust him to a certain degree.

"Put me down," she demanded, voice still devoid of emotion.

Clint dropped her unceremoniously on his bed before flipping off the light in his room, closing the door, and moving to get into bed.

"What are you doing?" Natasha asked.

"I wasn't going to be able to sleep, knowing you were out there brooding," he explained. "So my solution is that you stay in here. That way you can sleep and I'll wake you up if you start dreaming."

Natasha didn't say anything.

Clint propped himself up on one arm, "Listen, you don't have to stay if you aren't comfortable. Phil helped me get through my dreams by staying on the floor so that he could wake me up if I needed it. I just thought I could do the same for you."

After a few seconds, he felt Natasha stretch out on the bed beside him, her blanket pulled tight around her.

"Goodnight, Natasha," he said, sleep thickening his voice already. He nearly missed her response.

"Thank you."

While Clint slept beside her, Natasha lay awake in the dark, trying to fight off the increasing temptation of sleep. She didn't want the dreams to come back, and they always did. Usually she would go workout until she felt better. But even she admitted that in her current physical condition, that wasn't likely to help in the least.

Finally she drifted off into sleep, lulled by Clint's steady breathing beside her and his promise to wake her up.

* * *

_Fire. The room was on fire. She was trapped in the room. She stood on her bed to get a better angle on the camera she knew rested in the corner._

" _Пожалуйста," she begged. "Please let me out. I promise I'll be good." (Please.)_

_A cough forced its way out as the smoke from the curtains found her lungs._

_Natasha climbed down from the bed and moved over to the door. She tugged hopelessly on the handle._

" _Why?" asked a child's voice from the corner of the room._

_She spun and saw the first girl she'd killed in her training._

" _Mariska," the word passed her lips before she even realized it._

" _Why did you kill me?" the girl demanded, stepping forward out of the flames. "I thought we were friends."_

" _I'm sorry," Natasha choked out. "I didn't want to."_

" _What about me?" demanded the man behind her._

" _And me?"_

" _Me."_

" _My whole family!"_

" _How could you?"_

_The voices and faces shimmered through the flames, making every one of the people demanding an answer look grotesque and menacing._

_"Мне жаль!" Natasha cried. "Пожалуйста, я прошу прощения. Выпустите меня!" (I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry. Let me out!)_

" _Never," the voices hissed._

" _I promise I'll make it right."_

" _You can't. You will never be enough. You. Are. A. Failure. A miserable excuse for a human being and a disappointment to those who taught you," Ivan floated through the fire._

_He raised his arm and the fire followed it, forming into a column before shooting towards Natasha._

_Her screams and coughs echoed through the crackling._

"Natasha!" Clint called, trying to rouse the sleeping woman beside him. He feared touching her, but didn't want to let her remain in the dream. Her writhing and moaning had woken him, reminding him of his promise. Flipping on a light had been his first hope of waking her up. When she'd begun pleading in Russian, he'd realized he had to act quickly. "Wake up, Nat. It's just a dream. Come on sweetheart, please wake up."

He was reaching out his hand to shake her awake when she shot upright, screaming and crying.

"Hey," Clint commanded, reaching out to still her flailing limbs, heedless of the danger. "You're safe."

Her eyes focused on his as she began to cough. It took several long moments for the hacking to subside enough for her to speak, "Clint?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he tried smiling, a dismal failure considering his emotional state. He wanted to hunt down whoever and whatever could make the strongest person he knew scream and cry like that. "You're safe."

It took several minutes before her shaking and breathing were under control.

Clint watched as she began to rebuild her emotionless mask, pushing back the terror and pain he'd seen reflected in her eyes only moments before. He met her eyes, "Don't."

"Please don't hide from me," he elaborated.

Natasha cocked her head slightly, surprised he'd picked up on what she was doing.

"What's going on?" Clint pushed, hoping she would talk to him.

"Nightmare."

He chuckled darkly, "Yeah, I noticed. But what makes this one different from the others I've seen you have?"

She looked away from his gaze.

"Please, don't push me away. Let me help you."

"No one can help me," she spat, her Russian accent slipping out.

"Let me try at least."

She met his gaze and took a shuddering breath before speaking, "Fire. I'm trapped in a burning room. Then the people I've killed appear and start asking why. I can't get out. I can't escape. That's what the dream is. It never changes, it only gets worse each time."

A strangled sob broke out of her throat and she turned away to hide the tears in her eyes.

"It's okay," Clint said and reached out to pull her into his arms, ignoring her initial tension when she didn't pull away. "You're safe here."

She shook her head, "But that doesn't change what I've done."

"You've already begun working towards making up for your past sins. I don't know if you'll be able to ever feel like you've done enough, God knows I never will feel like my ledger is clean," Clint said, releasing her as she pulled away. He ignored the pang in his chest as she withdrew.

"How do you live with it?" Natasha asked.

He shrugged, "I tell myself that I'm going to do better, that I'm going to be better. Sometimes I talk to Phil, less often now than I used to. And when it's really bad, well I spend the day punishing myself, working myself to my limit."

Natasha nodded in understanding, "I usually go workout after a nightmare. But I can't do anything right now."

"Have you been sleeping since leaving the infirmary?"

It was her turn to shrug, "Some."

Clint sighed and pulled her down into the bed next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, "Do you think you'll be able to get a bit more sleep tonight?"

"I feel better," she allowed.

"Good," he murmured as he felt her relax. "I'll be here when you wake up."

* * *

Natasha woke up on May 3rd happy to have slept through the entire night without being disturbed. She refused to attribute the restful sleep to the man lying on the other side of the bed. She'd merely slipped into bed next to him when she heard him thrashing around in his sleep. He'd calmed down quickly.

She let herself out of Clint's bedroom silently and headed back over to her side of their quarters. After a shower, she found herself in an exceptionally good mood, despite her impending psych and medical appointments for the day. Her annual evals were supposed to happen within the next few weeks, and since she wasn't doing anything else (other than the very small and strict physical training regimen prescribed by Sanders), SHIELD had decided she may as well get both of them done on the same day.

After eating some disgustingly sweet cereal Clint kept stocked in their kitchen, she headed over to the psych department. Slipping into her seat in front of Dr. Parilla's desk at precisely ten thirty, Natasha made sure the woman understood her reluctance to appear. Natasha didn't believe that psychological evaluations were useful for any reason because they were so easily tricked.

"Good morning, Agent Romanoff," Dr. Parilla greeted her warmly.

Natasha nodded in acknowledgement and remained silent.

"How are you?"

Natasha shrugged, refusing to acquiesce to the doctor's determination that she talk to her.

"It's been a while since we've talked," Parilla continued as if the silence was normal. She perused the file sitting on her desk, "About eight months, right?"

Silence again.

Parilla sighed, "Listen, I'd really like to clear you to continue field work, but in order for that to happen you need to talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" Natasha asked, keeping her face neutral and mildly interested.

"How are you liking SHIELD?"

Natasha shrugged, "It's not bad. Certainly better than the Red Room, but that's not saying much."

"You've had a very successful year here," Parilla pointed out. "Did you realize it's been exactly one year since you're recruitment?"

"Has it?" Natasha asked. She had actually realized it, but she didn't see any point to remarking on it.

"In some ways it's been a challenging year."

"You could say that," Natasha allowed her lips to curl slightly.

"Tell me more about it."

Natasha shrugged again, "Working with Barton took some adjustment. Then there was the hostage situation in Yellowstone, I'm sure you'd love to delve into that. And of course, let's not forget the torture in France. Then there was the shit show that was Russia."

Parilla nodded, "If you'd like we can certainly talk about you're hostage experiences. But I don't think you need or want to talk about them. We both know you've suffered far worse and survived. Based on my observations, you've already developed coping skills for those incidents. Let's talk about Barton, how are you two doing?"

"We're fine. We've  _bonded_ ," Natasha sneered, placing special distaste on the last word. The last thing she wanted was for the woman to realize that she actually cared about her partner and valued their relationship.

"That's good," Parilla said with a smile. "It's nice to see Barton making an effort to make friends for once. He's usually pretty standoffish. You mentioned Russia. I know you were injured there, how's your recovery going?"

"I'd really like to be able to start training again," Natasha admitted. "A month of inactivity takes its toll. But Sanders has been hinting he'll clear me for training soon enough, maybe even trust me enough to let me off base."

"Physical problems can cause a lot of stress," Parilla noted. "How are you doing mentally?"

Natasha shrugged again, "I'm fine. As you said yourself, I've had far worse."

Parilla made a note but didn't speak again.

A smirk curled across Natasha's face, "Oh, you mean in terms of returning to Russia and running into old faces. I'm fine. I knew it was going to happen eventually."

"That's good to hear," Parilla replied with a smile. "Overall, it sounds like you're doing very well Agent. I'm going to clear you to continue fieldwork once you're deemed medically fit. However, I do want to see you in six months to make sure things are still going well."

Natasha nodded and stood to leave.

"And Agent," Parilla called as Natasha stepped out of the room. "My door is always open if you decide you need to talk."

A glance at her watch told Natasha she had just enough time to stop by the cafeteria and eat before going over to the infirmary for her check-up there.

Sanders greeted her with a cheerful smile when she walked into the room, "Romanoff, long time no see."

Natasha scowled at him, "Yeah, three days is an eternity."

He stopped and turned to face her, "Was that sarcasm?"

Stalking past him, Natasha didn't answer. She tried to keep her snarkiness to herself, but spending so much time with Barton had made it difficult.

"You've been spending too much time with Barton," Sanders muttered as he followed her over to an exam table. "Let's see how that stab wound is doing."

Natasha obligingly pulled up her shirt and showed him the nearly healed wound. His gloved hands probed the tissue around the stitches before tracing the actual line, "Any pain?"

She shook her head.

Placing his stethoscope in his ears, he put the end against her chest, "Deep breath."

Natasha complied, breathing in and out while he moved the instrument around her lungs, checking on her progress with the pneumonia.

"Your lungs sound mostly clear," Sanders announced, setting his stethoscope aside and moving to sit next the computer. He noted a few things in her file before returning to take her pulse and blood pressure. "How's the cough?"

She shrugged, "It's mostly gone but flares up if my breathing gets too hard."

Sanders nodded, "And your stamina is increasing, I see. The physical therapy routine is working. As for your annual evaluation, because of your injured status, we can't perform most of the normal tests. Instead, we're just going to do a blood workup and bring you back in a month to be cleared for missions and complete the physical portion of the evaluation. Sound fair?"

"Sure," Natasha said. "But does that mean I'm still stuck on base and in PT?"

Sanders studied her for a moment, "Let's say we drop your PT to once a week and you can go back to your off-base apartment. But can I trust you not to overexert yourself?"

"Scout's honor," Natasha said solemnly.

"Alright, at the end of this week you're free. But if I think you're disobeying me at all, I'm bringing you back here indefinitely."

"Would I disobey you, doctor?" Natasha asked, trying for innocence.

Sanders snorted, "Get out of here Romanoff before you make me change my mind."

She meandered through the corridors, itching to head towards the gym to spar or at least punch a dummy. But she knew doing so would only encourage Sanders to follow through on his threat to keep her here indefinitely. With a sigh, she decided that her best option was to return to her quarters and spend the rest of the day reading. It was better than being bored.

Upon entering the main room of the living quarters she shared with Clint, Natasha knew something was wrong. She pulled out a knife and slid over towards her door, now open a crack despite her closing it that morning.  _Who had broken in?_  she wondered. Who had the guts to risk pissing her off for a prank? Or what enemy would have access to her while at SHIELD headquarters?

She took a deep breath and shoved the door open, bringing her knife up quickly, ready to neutralize any threats inside. Her eyes swept around the room quickly, making sure everything was in its place and that no one could be hiding. A quick sweep of the bathroom revealed that she was alone. Natasha allowed herself to relax slightly and approached the object sitting on her bed.

The box (flat, long, and rectangular in shape) was wrapped in black paper, with red ribbon wrapped around it in a cross and tied in a bow. Natasha frowned at it for a moment, recognizing it for what it was—a gift, but unable to comprehend why it was in her room. She picked it up gingerly, still wondering if it was meant as a trap. When nothing happened, she began to unwrap it. She set the untied ribbon to the side and meticulously found the pieces of tape holding the paper together. Pulling the adhesive away, she did as little damage as possible to the paper, eventually reaching a point where she could slide the box out.

The box itself was a dark, chestnut colored wood, masterfully designed and flawless. The hinges were nearly invisible. Natasha ran her fingers over the smooth wood before flipping open the lid. A slight gasp escaped her lips as she saw what was inside.

The beautiful knife caught the light as she shifted the box, pulling it out gingerly. The handle was the same wood as the box, but the weight of the knife was perfect despite the heavy handle. The curved blade was obviously sharp, the metal polished to perfection. A large opal sat in the pommel of the hilt, only adding to the knife's value.

A note slipped out from the box, drawing her attention away from the magnificent gift. Scrawled in messy handwriting, it read: "HAPPY FIRST ANNIVERSARY."

Natasha scowled as she realized just what the gift represented and from whom it came. She tossed it carelessly back down onto the bed and moved to close her door. She didn't want to see her partner when he decided to return to their quarters.

Why had he given her such a beautiful gift? He obviously knew her well enough to realize she enjoyed collecting knives, he'd given her three now. But it was a nice knife, too nice for a gift. Natasha didn't understand what was happening. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason for anyone to be giving her gifts, least of all her partner.

With a sigh, she dropped onto the bed. After a moment, her gaze flickered over to the knife and she rolled her eyes. Scooping it up, she examined it once more before flipping it in her hand. It felt good, like it belonged there.

Natasha's eyes flashed with anger as she shoved herself off from the bed. How dare Barton give her something? She already owed him everything! What made him think he could just increase the debt?

That decided it, she would just have to give the knife back. She refused to become any more indebted to the man than she already was.

Slipping the knife back into its box and snapping the lid closed took only a moment. Then Natasha was standing and moving towards her door.

" _You don't owe me anything,"_  Clint's voice echoed through her memory when her hand came to rest on the door handle.

That's what he'd told her when she tried to repay her debt, nearly a year ago. Was he lying?

No, Natasha decided, he hadn't called in or mentioned the debt in a year.

" _I saved you because I believe there's still a human in that shell who wants to do the right thing. So prove it. Show me I'm right."_

The knife box slipped from Natasha's grip as she took an involuntary step backwards and sat on the end of her bed. She ran her hand through her hair, thinking furiously.

Had she done that? Had she proved him right? She'd certainly tried to find her humanity in the last year. Not for Barton, but for herself. Maybe that really was all he wanted…

The box drew her stare, demanding she ask  _why the gift then?_  If he didn't want anything from her, why take the time to do something nice, to give her something to commemorate her first year at SHIELD?

_Because he's a genuinely good person. Because he's your partner. Because he cares,_  whispered the optimistic voice in the back of her mind.

A frown spread across Natasha's face as the truth behind the words sunk into her mind.

She needed to give him something she decided.

* * *

Clint returned to his room after a long day of sparring with Phil. He was ready for a long hot shower and hoped to see his partner. She'd been absent for most of the day before thanks to her annual evaluation, and then she'd disappeared around dinner. He wanted to see if she'd celebrate her first year at SHIELD with him.

He stepped into his room and froze when he saw a perfectly wrapped, purple gift on his bed. It looked like his partner had decided to push his boundaries. He approached the gift cautiously, half expecting it to explode or do something equally sinister. A gift from the Black Widow couldn't possibly be anything but a trap. Maybe she'd finally cracked and decided to kill them all.

Clint shook his head, no, he trusted Natasha not to do anything to intentionally hurt him. He'd just been spending too much time with Phil.

He tore into the gift with relish, tossing the shredded paper to the floor carelessly.

A wide grin spread across his face as he realized what he was holding. A twentieth anniversary DVD of  _The Black Cauldron_. Maybe he was right about her, maybe he could hope that she'd become the good person he knew she could be.

* * *

The first place Natasha went after being cleared for some physical activity outside of PT was to the area of the range devoted to knife throwing. She was itching to try out her newest one and to hone her skills after a month away. Picking up the knife Clint gave her, she raised her arm and sent it spinning towards the target. It sank into the wood with a dull clunk.

Her eyes brightened for a moment. While not designed for throwing, the knife had performed well enough. She went to work practicing with her set of throwing knives. The knives landed in the target solidly and she paused only to retrieve the blades.

The solitude of the range allowed Natasha to relax for the first time in a while. She allowed her awareness to decrease and focused on the repetition inherent to the action.

When Clint entered the range, he expected it to be empty. Most agents were busy doing other things in the late evening, giving him the space to himself.

Clint slunk down to the far end of the range, wondering who else would be there at such a late hour. The sound of a target being struck echoed around him. He allowed himself to relax slightly when he found himself watching his partner practice her knife throwing. He only watched for a moment before stepping out of the shadows and making his presence known.

"Can I help you?" Natasha demanded, but her voice lacked its usual venom.

Clint shrugged, "I came down here to shoot. I got curious about who else was here."

Natasha didn't respond as she walked away and retrieved her knives.

When she returned, Clint gestured towards the knives, "May I?"

Natasha nodded and stepped back to allow him space to throw.

Clint took a few seconds to accustom himself to the weight of the knife and line up his throw. In one smooth motion he sent the knife flipping through the air and into the center of the target.

"Pft," Natasha made a judgmental noise behind him.

He spun to face her, "What?"

She shrugged smugly.

"Clearly you don't approve of my throw," he caused.

Her level gaze seemed to agree with his words.

"I not only hit the target, I hit the center!"

She snorted, "Only because you're the Amazing Hawkeye. Your technique needs some work."

He picked up another knife and threw it. It landed next to the first one he'd thrown. Turning back to his partner, Clint offered her a confident smile, "What was wrong with that?"

"You're grip to begin with," Natasha said, stepping forward with a sigh.

Clint's eyes widened when she reached out to him and—with feather-light touches—began correcting his grip. He couldn't remember Natasha ever instigating physical contact while awake.

"There," she said, stepping back after adjusting his grip. "Feel the difference?"

Clint focused on the way he know gripped the blade, admitting that it did feel better than his usual fist around the hilt. Now, his fingers were responsible for holding the blade. He tightened his grip to make sure it didn't drop out of his hand.

"No," Natasha barked. "Don't squeeze it. Just hold it. You've been around knives long enough, you won't drop it."

He relaxed his grip and moved to throw the knife, freezing when Natasha reached out and caught his arm as he drew it back.

"Hold," she commanded.

Clint remained motionless as she circled him, eyeing his stance critically.

Her fingers sent waves of shivers dancing across his skin as she brushed them against his arms, redirecting his positioning. He ignored the shivers and moved as she told him. With a toe, she nudged his feet wider apart. A sharp tap on his spine had him straightening and exhaling slightly.

"Throw."

Clint seemed to do no more than twitch before throwing his arm forward and releasing the knife. As before, it sank into the center of the target, but even he realized there was more force and accuracy behind it.

"You throw like a shot-putter, as if all the power came from your arm," Natasha scoffed. "Do you know why I can throw a knife farther, faster, and better than you?"

He shook his head. "Enlighten me."

"It's all in the wrist," she replied, picking up one of the blades. She moved smoothly to send it flying down the range, flicking her wrist just enough to give the knife a bit more force.

"I see."

Clint stepped forward and threw again, trying to remember everything she had done to change his stance and grip while also focusing on his wrist.

"Feet," she scolded once the knife was away.

With a sigh, Clint adjusted his feet and went to throw again.

This time she plucked the knife from his hand when he brought it back to throw, "Now you're neglecting your grip."

Clint found himself getting annoyed with her brusque manner. Couldn't she see he was trying? He forced himself to take a deep breath before returning to the task with renewed focus.

"Again," she commanded after the throw.

By the seventh throw, she had given him a nod of approval, "Better. But you need to keep working on it. You lack the discipline to improve exponentially, but perhaps you can improve marginally."

"I have discipline," Clint muttered as she walked away and gathered up the knives.

She nodded once at him before walking out of the range and heading to the cafeteria.

Clint waited until the door closed behind his partner to allow a grin to spread across his face. She had voluntarily worked with him on knife throwing! He could have danced for joy and only wished that Coulson had been there to see that there was hope.

He glanced longingly at the bow he'd set next to the stall before moving away and grabbing a SHIELD practice set of knives.

"Lack the discipline," he muttered. "I'll show her."

A knife went sailing through the air.

Clint took a deep breath and adjusted his feet.

* * *

Clint practiced his knife skills diligently for another month before Natasha deemed him competent. He tried not to let his pride show when she gave him the slight compliment. But outside of those few lessons, he didn't see much of his partner. She was either out training or holed up in her room whenever she was on base. And often, she spent the night in the city. Occasionally, she would slip into his room when the nightmares were too much, but she'd be gone by the time he woke up.

It had been a week since he'd returned from his latest mission and Clint had seen neither hide nor hair of his partner. Eventually, he'd given up staying on base and returned to his own apartment for a few days away from SHIELD. He'd earned it, he figured. It had been a long year and he hadn't had any voluntary time off.

Clint shoved the empty pizza box off of his bed and settled back onto the pillows. He looked around for the TV remote and found it lying on the floor beneath the TV. Too far to reach it from the bed. With a sigh, he shrugged and moved to get under the covers. He decided he'd rather lie there, trying to fall asleep (unlikely with his recent bout of mission-induced nightmares plaguing him) than get up to retrieve the remote.

He flipped off the lamp beside his bed and closed his eyes, hoping for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

The slight whisper of a window opening had him sitting bolt upright minutes later, no longer on the edge of sleep but alert. He pulled the Glock from under his pillow and crept towards the bedroom door, listening intently for the sound of whoever was on the other side. Moments passed without a sound and he began to wonder if he was just imagining things.

A floorboard creaked and he tensed, ready for an attack to meet him. He grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open, bringing his Glock around to bear on the trespasser.

The figure was no more than a black shape, outlined by the streetlight pouring through the open window. Whoever it was raised their hands in an attempt to appear non-threatening.

"It's me," Natasha's voice said from the figure.

Clint flipped on the light as he thumbed the safety back onto his gun. The light illuminated the figure and showed that it was, in fact, his partner.

"Jesus," he swore as he relaxed, the adrenaline still coursing through his body. "I could have shot you."

"Sorry," she murmured, eyes riveted on him. "I should have called or something…"

Clint frowned, sensing that something was wrong, "Romanoff, why did you feel the need to break into my apartment?"

She glanced away from him, an action that only made his frown increase.

She took a shuddering breath before speaking, "I couldn't sleep… I—I needed to make sure you were okay…"

Her last words were barely above a whisper and Clint wondered if he'd actually heard her right. The emotion in her eyes when she met his gaze confirmed that he had.

"Come on," he said, gesturing towards the bedroom. "I was just about to go to bed."

Natasha hesitated, "I—That's not why I came over. I should just leave now."

Frustrated and tired, Clint practically growled at her, "You show up and drag me away from sleep, practically giving me a heart attack in the process, then you just plan on leaving even though we both know you sleep better when we share a bed? That's not going to cut it. So damn it Romanoff, get in here and lay down. Hell, I sleep better when you're around."

He turned and walked back into his room, leaving the door open as an invitation. The window hissed closed and he wondered if she'd left, a moment later he heard her enter his room. Placing his gun back under the pillow he turned to see her wrinkling her nose at the empty takeout containers and pizza boxes on the floor.

"You should clean up," she said, slipping into the other side of the bed.

Clint snorted, "I'll get right on that."

They didn't speak again as they drifted off to sleep, neither disturbed by their dreams.

When Clint woke in the morning he felt refreshed for the first time in weeks. He turned slightly to see his partner sleeping next to him. He found himself remembering the night during their mission to Colorado where she'd ended up sleeping against him. She somehow looked even younger now, and strangely innocent.

He climbed out of bed, trying not to wake her and headed into the kitchen. Scratching his head and surveying the state of his kitchen (minimal food, dirty dishes piled in the sink, coffee pot ringed with black goo) and realized that Natasha may have had a point about cleaning up. With a glance at his bedroom door, he worked to load the dishwasher and get it running, throw out the inedible food, and began gathering the ingredients for pancakes.

Shuffling from behind the bedroom drawer drew his attention as he expertly flipped a pancake onto the plate he had out before sliding it into the warm oven.

Natasha appeared in the doorway a second later. She cocked her head slightly at the sight of him in the kitchen.

"I'm making pancakes!" Clint told her cheerily. "I even found some bacon!"

She stepped into the kitchen, almost shyly, "It smells good."

Clint grinned and gestured toward the finished dishwasher, "Be helpful. Unload that."

Natasha remained frozen for a moment before stepping towards the dishwasher. Her whispered words were barely audible, "Thank you."

Clint only nodded in return, knowing she would see his reaction.

A couple of minutes later, Clint pulled the plates of bacon and pancakes out of the oven and he syrup out of the microwave.

"Breakfast is ready," he announced with a flourish.

Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled two glasses out of the cabinet she'd set them in. Wordlessly accepting the apple juice he handed her, she filled them and set them at the table.

"So today I'm going to teach you how to shoot," Clint declared.

Natasha swallowed her bite of pancakes, "Why?"

He shrugged, "Why not?"

"Because I don't use a medieval weapon in the field," she replied sweetly.

Clint narrowed his eyes, "Shut up and eat your pancakes. We can go when we finish."

"You're not letting this go, are you?"

"Nope."

Natasha glared at him before continuing to eat. She refused to acknowledge how delicious the food was in retaliation for him making her learn archery.

At SHIELD, the two assassins managed to chase all of the other agents out of the range with a few seconds of glaring.

"Okay," Clint said, tossing finger and arm guards to Natasha. "Put those on."

Once she had strapped the protective gear in place he had her stand in front of the target and draw his bow.

"This is my lightweight bow," Clint told her. "It only has a draw weight of one hundred pounds."

She pulled the string back, allowing him to guide her from where he faced her and push her elbow up, she managed to draw the bow fully, "What is it on your regular bow?"

"Two fifty," he said with an arrogant smirk.

"Hm," she hummed in response, gently letting the string relax until her arms were lowered.

"At least you didn't try dry firing it," Clint allowed.

"Something tells me that wouldn't have gone well for myself or the bow."

"Probably not."

"Let's add an arrow to the mix," he grinned, offering her an arrow. "Just remember basic weapon safety: don't point it at anything you don't intend to shoot."

Natasha rolled her eyes and accepted the arrow, nocking it on the bowstring on her third try.

"Not so easy, is it?" Clint teased.

"I never said it was."

"Draw again," he instructed.

Natasha drew the bow back, arms trembling with the effort of holding the string all the way back.

"When I tell you to, you're going to loosen your grip on the arrow and the string. Just let it slip away," Clint said.

She focused on the target down the range.

"Now."

The arrow flew wide and hit the edge of the target, dropping down without sticking. Natasha nearly flinched when the string smacked against her arm guard.

Clint nodded, "Not bad. Now let's start working on your stance."

* * *

Phil had spent the better part of an hour searching for his agents since walking out of his meeting with Fury. Despite Romanoff's injuries and current injured status, they'd managed to catch a mission. Fury wanted his best on this one, and it would require several weeks of preparation. With any luck, Romanoff would be cleared by then, and if she wasn't, well Phil wasn't above pressuring Sanders if he needed to.

So far he'd checked the cafeteria, their quarters, and medical (he never knew with the two of them). He'd checked all of Clint's hiding places, including the roof and a few of Romanoff's. Neither of them were answering their phones, but he knew they'd both come to base for the day. With a sigh, he headed down to his last resort: the range. He knew Romanoff hadn't been cleared to return to training so they shouldn't be down there… but there was no way to know until he checked.

The range appeared empty when Phil first stepped in, which was an immediate clue that at least one of his agents was there. They tended to scare off others or draw a crowd when they trained, most often the latter. He walked around the edge of the room, headed towards the far end, where Clint was most likely to position himself.

"You've got to keep your arms level," Clint's voice floated over to Phil.

Phil frowned, wondering to whom Clint was speaking.

"Here," Clint continued. "Let me show you."

Phil rounded the corner and found his agents. Clint was standing behind Romanoff, wrapping his arms around her and placing his hands over where she gripped his bow. That Romanoff was allowing him to touch her was surprising enough for Phil, the fact that Clint trusted her with his bow was even crazier.

The pair drew back the bow and Phil watched as Clint adjusted Romanoff's position slightly before leaning in close to her ear. He couldn't hear what the man said, but the woman released the arrow and watched it sail towards the target. Clint remained standing against her while they both studied the shot. He stepped away reluctantly, something which Phil made note of, once again worrying that his agent was going to end up heart broken all too soon.

Clint gave Romanoff a smile, "Nice job."

Phil was shocked to see her actually return the smile with a small one of her own.

Phil cleared his throat and stepped forward, drawing the attention of both, "I've been looking all over for you two."

Clint shrugged, "We've been here."

"Should you be doing anything physical?" Phil asked Romanoff, genuinely concerned that she was disobeying medical orders.

"Sanders said minimal activity was okay. I'm not pushing myself," she replied with a shrug of her own.

"What's up?" Clint asked as he went to retrieve the arrows ringing the target.

"You've caught a mission."

"Both of us?" Natasha questioned.

Phil nodded, "We won't leave for a while, but there's a lot of prep work to be done. Meet me in briefing room six in twenty minutes."

"Where are we going?" Clint demanded as he returned to stand beside his partner.

"Dublin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leave me a comment and tell me what you think :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “You’re seriously letting us go wild in the city for the afternoon?” Clint asked incredulously. 
> 
> Phil shrugged, “You want to stay at the house and plan with me?”
> 
> Natasha stood up and grabbed Clint by his bicep, “Come on, before he changes his mind. You may have been here before but I haven’t.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to ViviChick, BlackHawksChild, and Karolina94 for commenting on the last chapter :)

_Moscow, Russia—1992_

Natalia sprinted into her parents' bedroom and jumped onto their bed without hesitation.

"Time to get up!" she demanded, pushing her father's shoulder to make him wake up.

The man groaned and forced his eyes open. A smile spread across his face as he saw the little girl sitting next to him, "Good morning, princess. Now why are you up so early?"

Natalia grinned and moved to make sure her mother was awake, "We're going to Ireland today!"

Her father chuckled and caught her before she woke up her mother, "Yes, but our plane doesn't leave for a long time still. Perhaps we can all get some more sleep."

Natalia shook her head emphatically, "No! I'm too excited to sleep."

"Perhaps we can at least let your mama sleep," he offered.

The red head considered his suggestion before nodding, "Okay papa. But can you make breakfast? I'm hungry."

Dr. Romanova smiled at his daughter and agreed to her request, allowing her to drag him out of the room after he'd put his slippers and dressing robe on.

He was standing in the kitchen, working to prepare a suitable breakfast for his daughter when the doorbell rang.

Natalia stopped her rambling about finding leprechauns and fairies in Ireland to look at her father curiously.

"Shall we see who that is?" he said, trying to keep his tone light. The doorbell wouldn't have rung that morning unless something was wrong.

His daughter ran ahead of him and unlocked the door, pulling it open slowly. She blinked up at the two men in uniform standing on the steps.

"Who are you?" Natalia demanded.

Dr. Romanova stepped in front of his daughter and offered an apologetic smile to the two men, "Please forgive my daughter's rudeness. She's too young to understand formalities. Would you like to come in?"

The darker haired man spoke, "No need Doctor, we're simply here to tell you that you're presence has been requested tonight."

Dr. Romanova ran his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, but I can't make it. My family and I are leaving on a trip this afternoon. It's been planned and approved for six months."

The man shook his head, "That's unfortunate, but it doesn't change the fact that you will be there tonight."

After a moment of hesitation, during which the second man sent a pointed glance at Natalia.

"Of course," Dr. Romanova said.

The two men turned and walked away without another word.

Natalia looked at her father, big green eyes worried as she picked up on his tension, "Papa, is everything okay?"

Dr. Romanova shut the door, "Yes, Natalia. But it looks like I'm going to have to work tonight."

"What about Ireland?"

The man shrugged, "I think perhaps we should wake up your mother and ask her what she thinks. But I know that I won't be able to join the two of you there."

"Oh," Natalia said sadly. "It's okay Papa, we can go another time when you don't have to work!"

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

Clint grinned when his handler entered the gym and called out to the man, "You're late."

"Barely," Phil replied drily.

Clint's grin only widened, "Come on old man, let's get started."

"I'm only seven years older than you…"

"So, yeah, old."

"You're in a good mood," Phil remarked as he moved closer to begin sparring.

Clint threw a lazy cross at him, giving them both a chance to warm up before the real work began, "Yeah, Romanoff should be getting back soon."

Natasha had been given a mission along with a handful of brand new agents a few days ago. It was meant as an opportunity for her to get back to work without pushing her too hard at first. Clint had a feeling she'd come back annoyed and bored, and that the agents she was with would be scarred for life.

Phil tried to hide his frown and sent a kick towards Clint, "You and she seem pretty close…"

Another punch came towards Phil's head. He ducked and circled away a bit.

"Yeah, we've been bonding."

"I'll admit," Phil said after a few more blows were exchanged. "You were right about her being a good asset."

Clint beamed.

"I'm still not sure she isn't going to turn on us any moment," Phil warned.

The younger man charged him and sent several kicks and blows aimed at him. When they disengaged, Phil saw that Clint was getting twitchy and wanting to get going with the real fight.

"I trust her," Clint declared.

Phil nodded, "That's all well and good…"

"But…?"

"But I'm afraid you're going to get hurt," Phil plowed on, watching his agent and hoping the younger man wouldn't shut him out. "I can see you've developed feelings for her. You know that SHIELD protocol forbids relationships between partners, and between non-partners there's still permissions to get and forms to fill out…"

Clint remained silent.

"I don't want you to get involved with her because she's only going to hurt you," Phil finished warily.

Clint nodded once, "Thanks for the advice, but you're wrong."

Phil was opening his mouth to ask what he was wrong about when the younger man dove forward and began the fight he'd been looking for. Phil found himself falling on the defensive and backed up quickly, making sure to keep his guard up. That conversation had gone about as well as he'd hoped it would. But Clint's lack of response worried him, no doubt Clint would ignore his warnings…

Phil just hoped he was wrong and wouldn't be left trying to put together a broken Clint Barton when all was said and done.

"As you know, the IRA has been increasing activity in the last few months. SHIELD has been monitoring the situation and feels that we need to be intervening since threats have been made against various government officials, including both President Mary McAleese and Prime Minister Brian Cowen," Phil lectured from the front of the briefing room. "Latest intel shows them claiming responsibility for a landmine attack in June and most recently, shooting civil servants for cooperating with the police in Northern Ireland."

"The three of us are going in to see if we can stop any further attacks, most importantly, we need to ensure the survival of the current government."

Natasha nodded, "We'll probably need to get in with the IRA then, find out what their plans are."

"The biggest problem with that is time," Phil replied. "We're going to be working on a tight schedule because we need to be in position by the end of August."

"That's a month and a half," Clint pointed out. "Surely we have enough time to establish some roots."

"Based on previous attempts to infiltrate, agents ended up spending the better part of a year getting in far enough to find out anything of value. It's a pretty close-knit group," Phil explained. "I'm not saying don't try, but that's not the focus of this assignment."

"We'll be relying on intel from whom, then?" Natasha asked.

"We have two agents in deep cover already," Phil said. "They'll be sending us everything they can."

"So if we aren't infiltrating the IRA, what are we doing?" Clint demanded.

"The two of you will be working to gather information from sources associated with but not actually part of the IRA," Phil elaborated. "You'll end up traveling around for most of the time, and hopefully you'll be able to find us some information. A lot of it will just be surveillance of suspected IRA headquarters."

Clint groaned.

"Mid-August, you'll return to Dublin, where I'll have spent my time working to protect the government officials and gain their trust. There's a large gala on September 1st. We believe that any attack will happen there, so, that's where we'll be most vigilant if we haven't already stopped the IRA."

"Sound simple enough," Natasha said.

Clint nodded, "I get that it's important but it seems like it's a bit below our level."

Phil's lips tightened, "Fury and I both have a gut feeling that we'll need the two of you on this one. Hopefully we're wrong and it ends up being a piece of cake."

"As long as it doesn't end up like Siberia, I'll take it," Clint muttered.

Natasha scoffed, "What are you complaining about? You didn't get injured or sick."

"No," he agreed. "But I did have to do all the work since my partner was down for the count."

Natasha rolled her eyes and turned back to Phil, "Do we have covers for this?"

Phil smirked, "Yes, two sets. One you can use while gathering information, the other will be used only for the gala. I'll have the dossiers to you by the end of the day and you can get to work on those."

"Two covers?" Clint groaned. "Come on. Can't I just go find the leader of the IRA and shoot him?"

Phil shook his head, "Sorry, but that's not an option."

Clint sighed, "Fine."

"We're done for today," Phil announced. "Just make sure to keep going through the packet I gave you about the IRA's actions for the past decade. Tomorrow we'll check in and see if you have any questions about the covers. We leave on Friday, so make sure you're ready."

The agents nodded and stood, exiting the room in silence.

Phil slouched down in his chair for a moment and offered up a silent prayer to any god listening that Clint got his wish and that the mission didn't end up like Siberia had. He would really appreciate a nice, easy mission he'd decided. And hopefully, he wouldn't even have to worry about his agents' possible romantic involvement.

* * *

_Dublin, Ireland—2008_

Ireland was just so…green, Natasha mused as their plane landed on the tarmac at Dublin Airport. Flying in over the countryside, after they'd dropped below the clouds, revealed a land filled with green fields. Honestly, it was a bit disconcerting for someone who'd grown up seeing the greens and browns of the Russian forests and then spent most of her life in and around cities. She was also surprised by the number of sheep she could see from the window as they descended.

While they waited to taxi to the disembarking zone, Natasha turned to Clint, "Have you ever been to Ireland before?"

He shook his head, "Actually yes. Pre-SHIELD I found myself being offered some good money by a wealthy IRA supporter to take out the current head of the IRA, the supporter didn't like the direction they were going in. But I'm pretty sure this is the first big-op SHIELD's run in Ireland since the late nineties, right Phil?"

Coulson looked up from his tablet, "That's right."

"It's a gorgeous country, which we'll be seeing plenty of," Clint continued. "We just need to make sure that you don't forget to taste some good ol' Guinness and potatoes are definitely a must."

Natasha shrugged, willing to go along with her partner's antics for the time being. She was in a good mood.

"Let's go," Phil commanded as the door opened and they were able to make their way down the stairs and into the sunlight.

"Phil," Clint called from the bottom of the steps. "Shouldn't it be raining?"

Phil's forehead wrinkled in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I just expected that my first time in Ireland with SHIELD would live up to all of the stereotypes about Ireland. You know, rain, sheep, potatoes, beer, IRA…"

Phil rolled his eyes, "And why would you think that?"

"Well first time I went to Canada I ended up eating maple syrup on everything, getting chased by a moose, and ran into some very polite Mounties," Clint replied. "I've just come to expect those kinds of things to happen with SHIELD."

"Sorry to disappoint," Phil said. "Now get in the car."

Natasha slid into the backseat and leaned forward so she could talk to her partner in the passenger's seat, "Chased by a moose, huh?"

Clint turned to scrutinize her for a moment, "I don't want to talk about it. It was a traumatic experience and you're just going to mock me for it."

"Now why on earth would I want to mock you about being traumatized by a moose?" she shot back.

Clint folded his arms and sank down into his seat, pouting, "Phil, she's being mean to me."

"And what do you think I'm going to do about it?" Phil asked with a mocking grin.

The archer's pout deepened, "You're both mean…"

"Barton," Natasha hissed in his ear, startling him and making him straighten quickly. "You don't want to see me when I'm feeling mean."

Clint felt a slight chill run down his spine at her words, No. He didn't think he did. He knew his partner had the ability to be fairly sadistic when she put her mind to it, but he'd never see her be outright malicious and cruel. It was something he hoped he would never experience.

"So when are we going to eat?" Clint asked, effectively changing the subject.

Phil rolled his eyes, "After we've set up the safe house."

"Fine. But I'm picking the pub."

"It's not even ten in the morning," Natasha pointed out.

Clint shrugged, "So? We're in Ireland, it's never too early to go to a pub!"

"Whatever you say moose-bait," Natasha smirked from the backseat.

Clint whirled to face her as Phil's eyes widened in shock.

"It was a very angry moose!"

Phil thought that hearing Fury was running off to join the ballet would make more sense than what he'd just witnessed, Romanoff had just made a joke and seemed to be taking pleasure in bantering with Clint. What was the world coming too?

They set up the safe house relatively quickly, helped along by Clint's desire to go out into the city and find something to eat. Phil grudgingly agreed to join the assassins, knowing that they both had too much energy to do any actual strategizing at the moment.

The small pub they found—after Clint refused to go to any that claimed to serve "Traditional Irish Food," he asserted those were the tourist traps they wanted to avoid—served very good food and was willing to give them three large pints of Guinness without judging them for the early hour.

Phil appraised Natasha for a moment when she took a swig of her beer, he shook his head as she set it down.

"What?" Clint asked, noticing the motion.

"It just seems wrong, letting her drink," Phil tried to explain hopelessly.

Clint chuckled, "Hey, she's legal here. And she's almost legal in the US."

"That doesn't make me feel better…"

Natasha smirked at him, "Coulson, I am willing to be that I could drink both you and Barton under the table."

Phil sized her up.

"Just remember she's Russian," Clint chortled. "They have vodka in their blood."

Natasha kicked him under the table, making the young man flinch and glare at her.

"Okay," Phil announced as he finished eating his food. "I'm going back to see if I can get some work done. The two of you have way too much energy, so please, go do something. I'll see you for dinner and we can get to work on planning out where you need to go."

"You're seriously letting us go wild in the city for the afternoon?" Clint asked incredulously.

Phil shrugged, "You want to stay at the house and plan with me?"

Natasha stood up and grabbed Clint by his bicep, "Come on, before he changes his mind. You may have been here before but I haven't."

Phil watched them leave with a small smile. He felt that he may have been granted a rare glance at the real Natasha Romanoff, the one hiding beneath the emotionless mask she usually wore, the young woman Clint had decided to save. He shook his head and threw down a handful of euros on the table to cover the bill.

* * *

Clint followed Natasha with a bemused smile as she walked down the street, "So where are we headed?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. What does one do when visiting Dublin?"

Clint shrugged in response, "You mean like tourist stuff? I know that I took a day to go see the main sites last time I was here."

Natasha smiled slightly at him.

"Shall we play tourists today?" he asked.

She nodded and allowed him to take the lead.

"You're in a good mood," he remarked.

"It's nice to get out of the states," she said. "And it isn't often that I get to have down time while on a mission, at least not enough to actually do anything with it."

"I know what you mean," Clint replied. "Did you ever get to do any sightseeing while working for the Red Room?"

She shook her head, "Not any for fun. Anything I saw, I only saw because following the target took me past it or it was too big to miss."

Clint shook his head, making a resolution to make sure she did some sightseeing on every mission from here on out. It was time for Natasha to have some fun.

"Did you do a lot of sightseeing before SHIELD?" she asked after a moment.

Clint smirked, "Actually yeah. I was a kid from the middle-of-nowhere-America, so I had a blast going to every famous monument I could in every city I visited. It helped me to forget what I was there for, even if it was just for a little while, I felt like I was a normal person marveling over all the incredible sights."

Natasha nodded in understanding.

"So, first stop today is St. Patrick's Cathedral. No visit to Dublin is complete without it," Clint informed her with a smile.

"St. Patrick as in the guy with the snakes?" Natasha clarified.

"That's the one."

Clint led the way down into the city's subway system and quickly navigated them back out to the surface, less than two blocks away from the cathedral.

He barely glanced at their surroundings as they stepped inside, choosing to focus on watching his partner instead. Her jaw dropped slightly as she stepped into the semi-dim interior. She took in a deep breath and walked farther inside, moving to stand just inside the rows of chairs. Her face seemed to light up as she took in the various sculptures and stained glass decorating the church.

"It's incredible," she breathed. A moment later, she laid eyes on the altar and her expression darkened.

"Natasha?" Clint asked, worried about the sudden change in her demeanor.

Without a word, Natasha walked forward a few rows and moved to sit on the far chair, next to the columns lining the nave.

Clint sat beside her and waiting, hoping she would tell him what was going through her mind.

"You know," she began finally. "One of the few memories I have from before they took me is of going to church…"

Clint felt a sharp pain in his chest at her words.

"I don't think I've been in a church in fourteen years," she continued, voice soft. "I guess I didn't expect to feel so—much—when we walked in."

"We can go if you want," Clint offered, unsure what else to say. He knew nothing would ease the pain of her childhood or make her memories any easier to bear.

She shook her head, "If it's okay with you, I'd like to sit for a while."

"Not a problem."

The two assassins sat in silence for several minutes, looking at the altar to a god neither of them believed in and wondering what life would be like had things turned out differently in their childhoods.

"What else have you got to show me?" Natasha said, breaking the silence.

Clint allowed a crooked grin to cross his face, "I can think of a few more things, but first, we need to go see all the fancy noble tombs they've got in here."

Natasha followed him out of the chairs and around the aisles of the church. She felt far more peaceful than she had in years.

* * *

Phil strode purposefully through the halls of the Irish Parliament (the Oireachtas Éireann) building in search of McAleese and Cowen. They were both giving speeches to the parliament today, and Phil really needed to talk to them. So far, both had been especially slippery when it came to agreeing to meet with him. Clint and Natasha had left a week earlier to begin speaking to former IRA members and others with connections to the organization outside of Dublin. Phil had been on his own while trying to establish a connection with the government.

With a confident step, he rounded a corner and hurried over to where he saw Cowen standing with an entourage of secretaries and a few members of parliament.

"Prime Minister Cowen," Coulson greeted the man warmly, ignoring the security team that stepped forward when he approached. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson, I've been trying to set up a meeting with you and President McAleese about matters of security. I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

Cowen forced a smile, "Right, of course. Unfortunately the President and I are quite occupied, perhaps we can schedule a meeting sometime later in the month."

"I'm afraid I have to insist," Coulson said politely.

Cowen studied him for a moment, "Well if it must be now, I was just on my way to see the President. You'll have to make it quick though, the press is expecting us in half and hour."

"It shouldn't take too long," Coulson assured the man.

The group moved through the building, slowing every time Cowen saw a new member of parliament and stopped to talk. Coulson felt himself growing impatient, but forced himself to wait for the man to finish each conversation. He would not be deterred by Cowen's obvious attempts to prevent the meeting.

They finally arrived at the room the President was using as an office/staging area for her visit to the Parliament that day.

"President McAleese," Cowen greeted her formally. "We're ready when you are."

Coulson stepped forward.

The Prime Minister failed to hide his triumphant smile when he laid eyes on the shorter man, "Ah, yes, Agent—-"

"Coulson."

"Yes, Agent Coulson," his practically sneered as he said the name. "It seems that we shall have to postpone our meeting as we really must get going."

The President looked at Coulson in confusion, "Who is this Cowen?"

Cowen frowned, "No one important."

"I'm Agent Phil Coulson ma'am," Phil supplied offering his hand. He had a feeling the woman would be more receptive to him, since she was the one who had been asking for international aid in shutting down the renewed IRA threats. "I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

"President Mary McAleese," she replied, shaking his hand. "Unfortunately, my colleague is right and we do need to be going."

"It's an urgent matter, ma'am," Coulson continued with a stern look. "It won't take too long to discuss."

McAleese glanced at her watch, "They can't start the press conference without us. Patrick, please tell the press we'll be there shortly but that we're running a bit late."

A young aid ran off as bid.

"Cowen," McAleese commanded, "Let's just step inside my office for a moment."

The woman led them into the room, gesturing for security and all of the aides to remain outside. She missed the glare Cowen shot at Phil.

"Is this about the threats they've made against us?" McAleese asked bluntly.

"Yes," was Coulson's firm reply.

She nodded, "I'm not too worried about it, but it is nice to see that the international community is taking things seriously."

"We believe that this is actually a very credible threat to both of you," Coulson said.

"And what makes you the experts on that?" Cowen demanded.

"You may not have heard of my organization before, but trust me when I say that is because we are very good at what we do. We have information that has led us to the conclusion that the IRA will attempt and attack sometime in late August."

"What do you propose we do?" McAleese asked.

"For now, increase your personal security," Coulson began. "We'd also like to stay in touch with you. I will serve as a liaison. SHIELD agents in the area are aware of the situation and we're bringing in a couple of specialists in order to neutralize the threat. You'll meet them in August."

McAleese nodded, "Sounds good to me. I can put you in touch with my head of security, he should be able to keep you in the loop, I only ask that you do the same."

"Of course, our primary goal is your safety."

"Mary," Cowen said patronizingly. "I don't think we should be trusting some shadowy organization that shows up out of nowhere. For all we know, they could be a front for the IRA."

McAleese turned to face the other man, her voice cold when she spoke, "Brian, I actually do know a little bit about SHIELD, having had contact with them when I worked in the UN. They can be trusted and they are the best. If they believe the threats are credible, then the threats are credible. We will go along with their security plans because I would prefer if neither of us lost our seats before the next election."

"But—" Cowen protested.

"No," she interrupted him. "You will follow my orders on this or I will call for a vote. We may both lose, but most importantly, you will be forced to step down. I can regain my position, can you regain yours?"

Cowen looked suitably cowed and nodded once in defeat.

Phil nodded, "Thank you for our cooperation. If you could just get me in touch with your head of security, I'll leave my contact information. I won't keep you from your press conference any longer."

McAleese smiled, "Of course."

The trio stepped out of the room and she beckoned forward one of her aides, "Charlotte, please introduce Agent Coulson to Brunswick."

Phil gave another nod to the two politicians. He followed Charlotte away from the group and to another floor to meet this Brunswick person. He was glad to have finally met with the two most important people they were meant to be protecting.

Cowen turned to McAleese once the man was out of sight, scowling, "I don't trust him. I don't know why you're so eager to bring other people into this. We've handled the IRA before and we'll be able to handle them now."

McAleese just smiled at him, "And I think it never hurts to have some extra help."

* * *

Clint stood atop the Cliffs of Moher, relishing the way the wind ruffled his hair and carried the smell of the ocean up the sheer rocks. He looked over at Natasha to find her lying on the ground, propped up on her elbows. She looked relaxed and relatively happy as the wind tugged at her braid, pulling small strands of hair free.

The last three weeks had almost felt like a vacation for the assassins. They'd been able to spend most of their time enjoying the Irish countryside and interacting with the locals. Their brief stop in Northern Ireland had even gone well, with the people more than willing to share their thoughts on the current political situation. In one small town in Cork, they ended up stopped for several days, trying to make contact with a local hermit. They'd ended up bonding a bit with the Parish church minister and his sister.

Clint could honestly say that this mission could turn out to be one of his favorites. If it continued the way it had been going, things would end up being easy, just as he'd predicted. But Clint wasn't foolish enough to believe that things would end up going completely smoothly. Luckily the mission was far below testing the skills of the assassins, so they'd been able to spend plenty of time relaxing.

"What time is she getting here?" Natasha asked, looking up at Clint and squinting in the sunlight.

Clint shrugged, "She wasn't very specific. She just said sometime between three and five…"

"That's helpful."

Clint lay in the grass beside his partner, "Yeah, well we can't really complain about the location. It's a hell of a view."

"That it is," Natasha agreed, lying down all the way. "Although what she'll think when she sees us laying in the grass like children will be interesting…"

"I'm sure she'll get a kick out of it."

In their three weeks of traveling, they'd managed to gain the confidence of an IRA member's girlfriend. Annie O'Hare was her name and she said her boyfriend wanted out and that they'd help the assassins if they would help the boyfriend get out in turn. They'd agreed to the deal with minimal fuss from Phil and soon found themselves with a valuable ally. Natasha appreciated the older woman's audacity while Clint got a kick out of her lack of filter. She'd taken to calling the assassins "children" upon realizing they were far younger.

"It's almost going to be sad when we have to go back to New York," Clint ventured a few minutes later. "I mean, Ireland is wonderful."

Natasha smiled at him, "I'm sure we'll manage though."

Clint shrugged, "Still, I figure since I've got a safe house here I should try to visit more often."

"You've got a safe house in Ireland?" Natasha asked, curiosity piqued. She had assumed the man had safe houses like she did, but he'd never mentioned them before.

"Yeah, but I'm not saying where. And no, SHIELD isn't aware of its existence, much as I'm sure they aren't aware of all of yours."

"What's the point of having a safe house if everyone knows about it."

"Exactly," Clint chuckled before turning to look at Natasha. "You know, you've been way more relaxed on this mission than I've ever seen you before."

Natasha gave a half-shrug in response, "It helps that I've been sleeping decently."

"Tell me about it," Clint said. For most of the mission they'd been sharing a bed, and though neither of them had mentioned it before today, they were both sleeping far better as a result.

"Agents?" called a willowy voice from behind them.

They both pushed themselves up to see none other than Annie O'Hare approaching.

Clint grinned at her, putting on his charming attitude easily, "Annie, my darling love, you look lovely today."

Natasha brushed the grass off her pants and rolled her eyes at her partner's comments.

Annie chuckled, "Careful there, Agent Barton, you wouldn't want a lass to get the wrong idea."

"And what makes you think it's the  _wrong_  idea?" Clint commented with a cheeky smile.

Annie swatted at him halfheartedly and laughed, "Just wait until I get home and tell Jack what you've been saying."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled," Natasha smirked.

Clint shrugged, "Someday, Annie will realize she wants me and that'll be the end of that."

Annie laughed again before sobering up, "There is a reason I asked the two of you to meet me here though. I know it's out of the way, but I was working nearby and I always come up here when I work. I also wanted to make sure we weren't overheard."

"You have information?" Natasha asked.

"Yes," Annie said. "I think we know what their plan is."

The assassins waited for her to continue speaking.

"Jack heard they were planning to attack that fancy gala the government's having to celebrate the 'peace.' They've got a few bombs we think, but they probably aren't going to use them to do the damage."

"Then why have the bombs?" Clint muttered.

Annie shrugged, "Probably just to scare people, I know it'd scare me a bit. Anyway, they'll use the confusion from the bombs to take out the targets they named before disappearing. Rumor has it that Byrne wants to make a statement that the war isn't over. He figures attacking their peace celebration will do the trick."

"Anything else?" Natasha asked, wondering why the woman was so worried about being overheard. She hadn't given them much more than they'd pieced together for themselves.

Annie hesitated before speaking, "Jack heard Byrne mention that they've got somebody on the inside who's going to make sure they succeed. Apparently this person knows all of the security plans and will have some control over security."

"That's quite a helpful person to have," Clint commented. "Any idea who it is?"

The Irish woman shook her head, "Sorry, but no. And we aren't even sure how accurate that information is. There's a chance that Byrne is just talking himself up, plenty of people are skeptical of the plan at best."

"Thank you for the information," Natasha said, turning to walk away from the cliffs, knowing that Annie wouldn't want to risk anyone seeing them talking.

"There's one more thing," Annie called the assassins back. "I think that Byrne's getting suspicious of Jack and me. I swear I've been followed twice while going to work. And Jack thinks he's had guys tail him home before too."

The assassins exchanged a glance, before Clint spoke, "We'll take care of it. Just be ready to go if you need to get out quickly."

Annie nodded, "Thanks. I take it you two are headed out of here to put a stop to this."

"That's the plan," Natasha admitted.

"Well good luck to you then, my prayers will be with you," Annie said before she turned away to look out towards the sea.

Once they were out of earshot, Clint turned to Natasha, "We need to get SHIELD watching them to make sure nothing happens."

Natasha nodded in agreement, "We can tell Coulson once we get to the car. We need to confirm that they'll use bombs. And tell him to be on the lookout for a mole."

"I guess vacation's over?" Clint said. "Now we actually have to work."

Natasha shook her head at his disappointed tone, "Well we do have the entire drive back to Dublin…"

Clint grinned, "And hey, we haven't seen Blarney or kissed the Blarney Stone yet!"

"You can kiss it, but I think I'll pass," Natasha wrinkled her nose.

* * *

Phil was waiting in the safe house for his agents to return. Though he didn't want to admit it, he had actually missed them during the month they'd been gone. Sporadic check-ins were the most he got from his agents. He had known he'd miss having Clint around, the man was practically his brother despite the turbulent year they'd had. What Phil hadn't expected was that he'd even miss having Romanoff around a bit. She was cold on a good day, but she did help balance out Clint's antics with her cool professionalism. And it never failed to amuse him when she returned Clint's sarcasm without missing a beat.

Glancing at his watch, Phil sighed. They were supposed to have arrived an hour ago, but got stuck in traffic and were now making their way through Dublin very slowly. He knew that Fury would want a full report from the two of the last month by the end of the day, and Phil wanted to hear everything for himself. But it was getting late in the day and they probably weren't going to have as much time as he would have liked before they needed to start working on their plan for the gala.

Just under two weeks until the event, and Clint hadn't even had a chance to scope out the venue. Phil knew his agents were going to feel pressured when they got back to have everything in place and ready to go.

The door to the safe house clicked open and Phil watched as the assassins dragged their bags inside, looking tired and worn.

Clint gave the man a tired smile and move to embrace him, "It's good to see you Phil."

"You look like shit Barton," Phil said, voice tinged with worry.

"It's been a long day full of stupid drivers," Clint replied, moving back to grab his bag and drag it into his room.

Natasha emerged from her own room and sat down at the table with a courteous nod at Phil.

"We need to debrief and then you two are free to go to sleep," Phil told them once they were both seated.

"Fury wants our report today?" Natasha asked.

Phil nodded.

"Well, you already know pretty much everything thanks to our check-ins," Clint said before beginning to recount their actions.

Natasha added on occasionally, throwing in her own opinions on some of the people they'd interacted with. By the time they'd finished talking, it was well past a reasonable time to sleep. Phil had needed to stop them and clarify some points. And then they would get off topic and start talking about the gala in between parts of the story.

Phil finished typing up the report he planned on sending to catch Clint yawning, "Alright, I think it's time for everyone to get some sleep."

They all turned in for the night without another word.

* * *

Phil woke only a couple of hours later to motion in the safe house. After a moment of listening, he was able to identify it as Natasha moving around. He wondered what she was doing and was tempted to get up and see if everything was okay. He knew she struggled with dreams as much as Clint did. But he also knew that he didn't have a relationship with her that would allow him to confront her about her nightmares.

A quiet creak alerted him to a door being opened, and if he remembered correctly, the door that creaked belonged to Clint's room.

Swearing silently, he forced himself to roll over and go back to sleep, ignoring whatever his agents were doing until the next day.

Natasha had taken off to find a dress for the gala by the time Phil had woken up the next day.

Phil eyed Clint over the rim of his coffee mug, "So…"

"So…?" Clint replied, clearly confused by what Phil was leading up to.

"You started sleeping together," Phil declared bluntly.

Clint shook his head and frowned, "No. And what gave you that idea?"

"I heard Romanoff get up and go into your room last night," Phil said with a shrug, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

Clint shook his head again, "It's not what you think."

"No? You and Romanoff haven't been sharing a bed for the last month?"

"Not because we were having sex," Clint shot back, temper flaring. "You know we both have trouble sleeping, sometimes it helps just to have someone to trust lying there."

Phil scoffed, "You really want me to believe that?"

Clint stood up from the table, "You of all people know that my nightmares are pretty damn bad. Trust me when I say hers are worse."

Without a word, Clint moved to the door and opened it.

"Where are you going?" Phil demanded.

"For a run."

Phil set his coffee mug down hard on the counter, "Fuck." He'd screwed that one up, he admitted to himself. He should have expected that Clint wouldn't take it well. And what right did he have to tell Clint what he could and couldn't do in his personal life? While he looked at Clint like a brother, sometimes it was hard to keep himself from trying to always tell the younger man what to do.

And Phil knew that Clint was less than open with him after all of his doubts with bringing Romanoff in, not to mention his continued nagging about how he didn't trust the woman. Perhaps he'd been a bit harsh…

Phil shook his head. No, he'd only been doing what he believed was right. But it was time to cut the crap and admit that Romanoff had been worth the effort so far, and she hadn't done anything to indicate she was going to betray them all.

He owed Clint an apology when the man returned. And he needed to start making more of an effort with Romanoff. Especially if he was right about where Clint's feelings were headed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave me a comment if you'd like :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: The man stumbled backwards and pulled a box with a switch on it out of his jacket.
> 
> “Don’t,” Natasha warned as she lunged for him.
> 
> “Bomb!” Clint yelled.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So many comments yesterday :) Thank you to Annemarie, BlackHawksChild, Karolina94, Angie_Martinelli, Accolade_Bespoke, callista51, swanqueen4, and ViviChick for the awesome comments!

_Waverley, Iowa—1995_

Clint hid his face in his pillow, breathing deeply as he tried to keep calm and not cry. He hadn't cried since the first week in the Waverly Home for Boys. He wouldn't let today break that streak, he wasn't a baby anymore. His back throbbed in pain from the lashes he'd received from Cole Herkel's belt. He hadn't even done anything wrong this time, all he'd said was that he didn't like the clothes Herkel had given him (they were too big and really old).

Movement next to his bed caused the boy to tense. Clint knew that there was a good chance it was Herkel or someone else come to bother him in his sleep, it happened often enough. He hoped it was just someone getting water or going to the bathroom.

The bed creaked as the person sat down near Clint's feet, making the old mattress sink lower.

"Clint?" Barney whispered.

Clint sat up, not expecting his brother to be the one bothering him. Usually Barney tried to pretend he didn't exist because he didn't want Clint's punishments to end up as his. Clint understood that and never held it against his older brother. He just wished things were like they used to be, when Barney helped Clint fight his battles.

"Yeah?" Clint whispered back in the darkness.

"Can you walk?"

Clint nodded, "Yeah. Why?"

"Get your stuff. We're leaving," Barney commanded.

Clint pushed himself forward on the bed, "What are you talking about?"

"We're not sticking around here until we get beaten to death. We're leaving," Barney explained quietly.

"Where are we going to go?" Clint whispered.

Barney shrugged, his movement barely discernible, "We'll find somewhere. The circus is leaving town in the morning, maybe they'll take us."

"Okay," Clint replied. He pushed himself out of bed and began packing his backpack in the darkness. He shoved as many clothes into it as he could.

Barney appeared at his side a moment later, "We need some food. I'm going to go raid the kitchen, I'll meet you outside by the big tree in fifteen minutes, okay?"

Clint nodded and followed his brother out of the dormitory, the two boys working hard to remain silent so that no one noticed them leaving. It wouldn't bode well if they got caught. They separated at the bottom of the stairs, Barney heading to the kitchen and Clint moving outside.

The front door of the Waverly Home for Boys was made of solid wood hanging on antique hinges. Clint knew he would have to be careful to avoid it creaking and thus alerting Herkel that someone was out of bed. He turned the handle and pulled it open a few inches before stopping and listening. His pounding heart made it hard to hear anything else.

Deciding he was undetected so far, Clint cautiously edged the door open, making sure to keep from moving it to fast. When the hinges creaked threateningly, he froze. He looked at the distance he'd managed to open it and nodded. Good enough, he could slip out through that, though it wouldn't be easy, he'd rather slip out than risk opening it anymore. Barney would be going out the back door, so there was no need to widen it further.

He stumbled through the yard outside the house, illuminated only by the full moon above. By the time he reached the tree, Clint was trembling from fear and adrenaline, his breaths coming in quick pants. He hitched his backpack over his shoulder and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He didn't know how long it had been since he and Barney had split up. Not exactly anyway, he knew that the door probably hadn't taken him very long but it felt like the work of several hours.

Clint glanced behind him and into the trees that ringed the property. He didn't like the thought of being out here alone at night. It was one thing when he was over by the old barn, but standing right next to the woods just seemed like he was asking for trouble. Rustling leaves behind him had the boy spinning around to peer into the shadowy trees. The rustle came again, this time he felt the breeze that accompanied it.

Clint jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He spun around, eyes wide with fear ready to run if it was Herkel.

"Relax," Barney hissed. "It's just me."

Clint relaxed a bit and nodded at his brother, throat too tight to speak.

"I got food. Let's go," Barney instructed.

Clint followed as Barney headed into the trees, "Do you know where you're going? We're not gonna get lost or anything, right?"

Barney turned around and rolled his eyes at his younger brother, "Yes, moron. I know where I'm going. We're going to follow the road but stay in the trees until we get into town. I don't want to risk anyone seeing us."

"Oh, okay," Clint said quietly.

The two boys walked in silence for several minutes before Clint spoke again, "Do you really think the circus will take us?"

Barney shrugged, "I'm sure they will, isn't that where all runaways go? And anyway, we're not going to ask them right now. We're going to hide on their train and then when they get to the next place we'll ask for them to let us stay."

"Why not ask now?" Clint wondered.

"Because we don't want them to send us back. If we get far enough away from here they won't bother making sure we end up back here, and they might even let us stay with them because we've got no where else to go."

"Oh, that makes sense," Clint said.

"I'm glad you approve," Barney scoffed. A moment later he spoke again, "You know, I didn't have to bring you with me. I could have done this on my own."

Clint didn't know how to respond. Didn't Barney have to bring him? They were brothers after all. But maybe being brothers didn't apply to this sort of thing, it didn't seem to apply to a lot of things it once had…

* * *

_Dublin, Ireland—2008_

Natasha circled the gala, alert to any potential attack. She maintained a half smile while she walked, as if she was having a magnificent time at the event. The long, fitted black evening gown she wore allowed her to blend in as much as was possible at these kinds of events.

A presence behind her had Natasha turning, polite words already on her lips. She stopped her greeting when she saw it was Clint. He looked good in a suit, she admitted to herself.

"Would you give me the pleasure of having a dance with you?" he asked with a charming smile.

Natasha forced her smile to grow, "I'm Molly."

"Collin," he replied, holding out his hand.

She accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her onto the dance floor, keeping up the act that they knew nothing about each other.

"Tell me Molly," Clint said, twirling her under his arm. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm an activist," Natasha replied, her Irish accent strong.

"For peace?"

She nodded, "It seems we're finally making progress. And what about you Collin?"

"Nothing much. My father's company sponsors McAleese, so I'm here as a delegate for him," Clint said with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm pleasantly surprised to have found such a beautiful woman to dance with."

Natasha's lips curled, "Oh, I don't know, you could have always danced with the President."

Clint shuddered and pulled her closer as the music slowed, "It's cruel to even joke about that."

They danced in silence for a few moments before Clint leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "I haven't seen anything yet. I'm starting to wonder if it's actually a credible threat."

Natasha nodded in agreement before stiffening, "At your six."

Clint gracefully spun them so he could see what she was talking about.

They separated as the song ended, circling the room from opposite sides. Natasha signaled Brunswick to follow her as she passed him and moved to approach the young man lurking beside the kitchen door.

The man's eyes widened when he saw Brunswick coming towards him. He spun and took off running, crashing into Clint. The man stumbled backwards and pulled a box with a switch on it out of his jacket.

"Don't," Natasha warned as she lunged for him.

"Bomb!" Clint yelled.

People turned to the commotion as the security team sprang into action.

The man flipped the switch.

The room seemed to go silent as Natasha dove to the ground alongside Clint. The explosion echoed through the room and flames flared up inside the kitchen.

Then the screaming started.

Clint and Natasha pulled themselves up amidst the crowd of panicking people. They approached the bomber, now lying on the ground. Clint watched the room while Natasha bent down to check the man.

"Dead," she pronounced, fingers on his neck.

He nodded, frowning as the security team tried—with minimal success—to establish order during the evacuation.

"Where's McAleese? And Cowen?" Clint demanded.

Natasha's eyes narrowed and surveyed the room. They were no longer in the room. Other than a handful of hysterical guests and security, the room had emptied quickly.

"We need to move," she told Clint.

Clint pulled his earpiece out of his pocket, tossing another to Natasha, and slipped it into place, "Coulson, bomber is dead. Do you have eyes on McAleese and Cowen?"

"I've got eyes on McAleese," Coulson replied. "Help Brunswick find Cowen."

Another explosion sounded rom the corner when Clint and Natasha stepped outside. Both drew their sidearms as people began running again.

"Shit," Coulson said into his radio. "Head away from the explosion, we've got suspicious activity over there."

A gunshot rang out, sending Clint and Natasha sprinting away from the explosion and towards the noise. They arrived to see an older man sprawled on the ground with blood leaking from his leg. Two of Brunswick's security team stood over him with guns out.

"Cowen?" Clint demanded.

"That way," one of the guards nodded away from the gala.

The assassins nodded their thanks and continued on. Their haste brought them to a group of partygoers mixed with a crowd of onlookers. Natasha studied the group, not liking what she saw: too many people were watching with guarded eyes, too many were practically vibrating as their eyes darted around, too many were waiting for something.

"We need to find Cowen," Clint practically snarled, his frustration evident.

"Split up?" Natasha offered.

Clint nodded and walked away, searching desperately for Cowen. Was an easy, straightforward mission with competent locals too much to ask for? he wondered.

A shock of orange hair caught his eye and he watched as the man glanced over his shoulder. Patrick Byrne was standing there. Ireland's most-wanted in plain sight and Clint was the only one who seemed to notice.

"I just found Cowen, requesting back up," Natasha's voice crackled over the comms.

Cowen or Byrne? Clint debated for a fraction of a second.

Cursing to himself, he pulled a small tracking device from his pocket and tossed it towards Byrne. He waited only a moment to ensure it stuck before running off to help Natasha. He was no glad that he'd decided to grab the tracking device on a whim earlier that evening.

He shoved his way past the onlookers who were staring at the gala building in order to reach Natasha, "Where are you?"

"We're around the corner in the alley," Natasha replied. "Cowen is safe, but I've got a lot of manpower against me."

The sound of gunfire drew Clint around the corner carefully, he knew that both he and Natasha were not dressed to take on a small army (not that they wouldn't if they needed to) and had minimal ammunition on them. With any luck, they would be able to get Cowen out of this before things got too ugly.

Natasha stood in front of Cowen and two members of the security team, they were wedged behind a large dumpster, keeping some cover between themselves and the enemy. It looked like the other three guards assigned to Cowen were on the ground. Ten men advanced on Natasha with semi-automatic weapons out. They looked to have some amount of military discipline, since none of them were faltering in their advance.

Natasha stepped out for a moment and downed one of the men before having to duck back under cover. Clint understood her dilemma immediately: she could only take out one guy at a time because of the others, and when she stepped out, she was leaving Cowen a bit more vulnerable, not to mention that in her dress, her movements were somewhat hampered, making taking them out by hand too risky for the situation.

"I'm here," Clint muttered once he'd stepped back around the corner. "I've got a plan."

"I'd love to hear it," she snapped at him and he listened as Cowen seemed to try to step away from the dumpster in order to reason with the gunmen.

Natasha's stern voice echoed down the alley as she commanded Cowen to stay where he was and let her handle it. The security guards were supportive of Cowen's idea it seemed.

Clint shook his head at the ineptitude of the people they'd been forced to trust on this mission. He'd asked Coulson to pull in more SHIELD personnel, but McAleese and Cowen wouldn't accept it.

"Keep their attention on you for as long as possible," Clint informed Natasha after a moment. "I'll come in from the back and see if we can even the numbers a bit."

The leader of the gunmen chose that moment to chuckle darkly, "Lass, why don' ye put down the gun and walk away. This isn't yer fight and I'd hate to see you get hurt."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Clearly you have no idea who I am."

A quick scan of the alley revealed Clint creeping silently along the wall, unnoticed by the gunmen. She focused her attention on the men in front of her, refusing to give away her partner even though she had a feeling they'd be able to take out the guards without the element of surprise. Now that Clint was there, she didn't have to worry so much about Cowen doing something stupid.

"I never asked for this!" Cowen shouted from behind her. "I became a politician so I could make things better, not get attacked for promoting peace."

Natasha turned to look at him incredulously, "Seriously? Don't you know that making things better usually means making enemies? I didn't think even you were that naïve."

Cowen shrunk back into his corner, all traces of bravado gone from his face.

Natasha whipped her attention back to the gunmen as she saw quick movement out of the corner of her eye.

Clint had practically pounced onto the two men standing farthest from Natasha's position. They both fell in a tangle of limbs at the sudden shift of being thrown at each other. Clint extracted himself from the two a moment later, having succeeded in knocking both of them out (Coulson had warned them before that using lethal force except when absolutely necessary would be frowned upon, they wanted these guys alive for interrogation). He rose, holding one of their guns.

The other gunmen were so oblivious that they didn't even realize that two of their companions were no longer in fighting shape.

Natasha's smirk caused the leader to cock his head and frown out her curiously, "What's got ye smiling? Yer outnumbered, lassie, give up now."

"I think we can take all of you without a problem," Clint challenged from behind, causing the gunmen to turn around in surprise.

Without another word, Clint squeezed the trigger on the gun he held and watched as the spray of bullets dropped three more men. He stopped the gunfire when Natasha stepped out from the dumpster and shot the knee of the leader. The leader dropped to the ground immediately, groaning in pain.

The three remaining gunmen shared nervous glances and looked between Clint and Natasha trying to decide who was the bigger threat.

Natasha stalked forward, pulling out the long knife she'd concealed and allowing a malicious smirk to grace her features. Clint practically mirrored her movements and emotions, exuding the same feline grace she had.

The middle of the three gunmen flinched when his back hit the alley wall. He closed his eyes and whimpered before dropping his gun to the ground and sobbing, "I surrender."

The other two followed suit quickly, all three terrified of the assassins approaching them.

While Natasha secured the hostages, Clint went to work securing the gunmen they'd already taken out.

"Report," Coulson barked over the comms.

"We have Cowen," Natasha replied. "We also have several hostages with us."

"On our way," Coulson said.

Once Clint had finished tying up the hostages and ensuring that Cowen's security was taking care of him, he turned to Natasha and surveyed her, "How would you feel if I told you we're not done after this?"

Natasha gave him a questioning look.

"I saw none other than Patrick Byrne just before you called for backup," Clint explained.

"Shit," Natasha swore. "You shouldn't have—"

Clint shook his head and cut her off, "I needed to come here, we both know that. I did manage to get a tracker on him though…"

She raised an eyebrow, impressed by his actions, "As soon as Coulson takes custody here we should go."

Clint nodded, "Glad to hear you say that, although I'm pretty sure our mission is done."

Natasha smirked, "But just imagine how happy the Council will be when they hear we managed to catch the leader of the IRA."

"Something tells me they'll still be mad at us for something," Clint shrugged. "But I'm all for the challenge since no one's managed to catch him yet…"

Police sirens pulled their attention to the end of the alley where a legion of police cars and ambulances were pulling up. Coulson stepped out of the lead car and began issuing orders to secure the hostages and get Cowen and his security team to a secure location for medical attention. The emergency health officials began working on those injured in the fight and covered those who had died.

Eventually, Coulson walked over to where Clint and Natasha were standing, "Good work. Looks like Cowen and McAleese survived the attack, as did all of the other threatened officials. It looks like we suffered minimal casualties while they lost both bombers and several more people. We've also captured close to twenty members."

"I landed a tracker on Patrick Byrne," Clint mentioned with a proud smirk.

Phil stared at him for a moment before opening his mouth, "You want to go after him?"

Both agents nodded.

Phil sighed and pulled out his phone, "Go. But you don't make a move until I say so. I'm going to see if I can get you a kill order."

"Thanks Phil!" Clint chirped as they hurried away from the scene and back to the car they'd parked near the gala, knowing they might have to make an unplanned exit.

* * *

Clint and Natasha made it to their get-away car quickly. Natasha slid into the backseat and began to change as Clint pulled out into the street and began working on the car's SHIELD-installed navigation system. He typed in his agent number and password, keeping one eye on the road. A moment later, Natasha was sliding into the passenger seat beside him and pulling her hair back into a French braid. She had managed to get out of her dress and into her uniform in only a couple of minutes.

Clint shook his head to keep himself from getting distracted by the way her fingers slid through her red hair, much like he wanted to be doing with his hands… A few screens later, he was entering the information for the tracking device he'd planted on Byrne.

"Switch?" Natasha offered, tying off the end of her hair.

Clint surveyed her for a moment before nodding. He came to a stop at a red light before putting the parking break on. He allowed Natasha to practically sit in his lap before he slipped out from beneath her and climbed into the backseat himself. He went to work divesting himself of his suit and getting into his SHIELD uniform.

A pinging noise from the GPS alerted Natasha to a lock on the tracker they wanted to follow.

Once Clint was back in the front seat, stroking his bow and counting arrows, Natasha gave him a small smirk before taking off in the vehicle.

"Maybe I should drive?" Clint suggested as they sped through a busy intersection, narrowly missing several cars trying to cross.

"Please, we'll never get there if I let you drive," Natasha scoffed.

With a sigh, Clint pulled his seatbelt on, knowing that Phil would kill him if he got injured in a car accident thanks to his crazy Russian partner.

"No word from Coulson?" Natasha asked as she made a sharp right onto a one way street and raced towards the dot on the screen in the car.

"Not yet," Clint replied. "I'm sure he'll get us what we need though."

"If he doesn't we're going to have to be careful."

The man nodded, "If we don't get the kill order we'll just have to capture him and bring him back for SHIELD to deal with."

"I'm not very good at the whole capturing targets thing," Natasha mentioned casually. "It's not really my style."

Clint rolled his eyes, "Then let's hope Phil comes through for us."

Three blocks out from the blinking dot, Natasha pulled the car over and cut the engine. She turned expectantly to Clint, "What's our plan?"

Clint raised an eyebrow, "Why are you asking me?"

"Well we both know that you're a born strategist, so I figured I'd give you the option of planning out what we're going to do. If you'd rather wing it, well I can get behind that too."

He shook his head at her obvious enjoyment, "For now the plan is simple. Let's get a visual on Byrne and make sure that it's actually him that I managed to get a tracker on."

The two assassins got out of the car and walked the last few blocks, following the tracker using the GPS on Clint's phone. They both stopped before rounding the final corner in order to stay hidden. Natasha was the first one to peak out from their hiding place to see if she could catch a glimpse of Byrne.

Clint stepped out a second later, scanning the area quickly. They saw Byrne standing among a group of armed men, all looked to be waiting for something. A few moments later, two more men walked up, both slightly bloodied and bruised. Natasha hissed slightly when she recognized one of them from the gala.

The group followed as Byrne walked away and into the warehouse across the street. The assassins watched for a few minutes to ensure that no one left immediately.

Clint gestured for them to move back into cover and walked a few blocks away, "Okay, we've got an eye on them. Now we wait."

His partner sighed, "I really hate that part."

"They seem like they're going to be staying her for a while," Clint replied.

Natasha nodded, "Do we want to start planning as if this is where we'll be attacking them?"

"Sounds good to me," Clint replied. He looked up at the buildings around them. "Let's see if we can get on top of that warehouse."

Natasha followed him as he walked over to the building diagonal from the one Byrne had entered. She trusted her partner to pick the best vantage point for them, it was his job after all.

As they broke the lock on the warehouse, their comms crackled to life with Coulson's voice: "Widow, Hawk, report."

"We've located Byrne," Natasha said easily. "In a warehouse about twenty minutes out from the gala, we're on the outskirts of the city so minimal risk to civilians."

"Do you have eyes on him?" Coulson asked.

"We're working on that," Clint replied. "We know he's inside the building because we saw him enter, as for where in the building, well that we don't know. Hopefully our vantage point will give us the opportunity to see him inside the warehouse."

"Any word from the Council?" Natasha demanded.

"Negative," Coulson said.

"Damn," Clint breathed.

Natasha nodded in agreement with her partner's assessment. Neither of them wanted to wait.

"But Fury has given the go," Coulson continued. "At the moment, you're orders are to capture Byrne. However, those orders could change any moment to allow you to take him out."

"Copy," Clint said with a smirk. "Are we working on any particular timeline?"

"No, but I want check-ins every thirty minutes and one when you decide to go inside," Coulson instructed.

"Will do," Natasha replied, hearing the click as the line went dead. She turned to Clint, "Sooner or later?"

"Let's give it some time," Clint said, surveying the building across the street. "If we were really going to do this like I'd want us to, well we'd have time to break in and get a feel for the layout of the building. And of course, we'd also know what we're up against."

"I counted around thirty," Natasha informed him. "But there could very well be more inside. And we don't know how well they're armed... That being said, I'd rather we go in tonight than have to sit watches and risk them getting away."

Clint nodded, "Okay. Let's sit for an hour or so, just to watch. With any luck we'll find out some more information in that time and not be going in blind."

The hour of surveillance passed slowly for Natasha, she wasn't the type to just sit around watching, no she preferred to head straight in regardless of the risk and take care of the mission. As it was, she understood that Clint's preferred operating mode did have its own merits. For one, she wouldn't be risking injury as much by having a better idea of what waited inside. And of course, it helped that she had a partner to back her up. The two check-ins with Phil helped to break up the monotony, but Natasha was still rather bored when their self-imposed time limit ended. The men inside the building hadn't walked outside once. The most they had seen was some movement in the window of the upper floor.

"Coulson," Clint said to start their second check in. "We're not seeing any movement and we've decided to go in. We'll contact you when we make our move."

"Understood," Phil replied.

Natasha turned to Clint expectantly.

"How do you want to play it?"

Natasha considered the question for a moment, "Well I'm hesitant to just go in myself since you don't exactly have a view inside, and I'm not sure you're aim can beat concrete walls."

Clint chuckled slightly, "No, that would complicate things a bit."

"We can always just walk in the front door," she replied. "We're allowed to use lethal force on any of them who aren't Byrne, so that could work to our advantage."

"We'd certainly have the element of surprise on our side," Clint agreed with a smile. "Okay, let's do it."

Natasha nodded and stood up. She led the way back down to the ground and stopped to allow Clint to radio in their actions.

The street was silent and empty as Clint and Natasha stole across to stand in the doorway of Byrne's warehouse.

Clint tried the door handle and found that it was locked, "Well at least they aren't total idiots."

Pulling out a set of lock picks, he went to work on the door, making sure to keep his actions quiet to avoid alerting and of the people on the other side of the door.

A quiet snick announced that the lock was no longer functioning and he stood up. With one more look at Natasha, he pushed the door open and brought his bow around to bear on the interior of the building. When no one appeared to jump out at him, he nodded to his partner and they stepped inside.

The two assassins had take no more than ten steps inside when an alarm began to sound throughout the warehouse. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to alert everyone to their presence.

"Fuck," Clint said, voice practically void of emotion.

"I didn't think they'd have an alarm..." Natasha admitted.

"Me neither," Clint replied. He heaved a large sigh, "But hey, since when do our missions go smoothly. I guess we're just going to have to work a little bit harder."

"Let's go," Natasha commanded, leading the way deeper into the building. If it was anything like the one they'd used as a look out spot, the entrance area would open up into the main storage space, the top of which was ringed by a second floor and various offices and rooms. She smirked in triumph as they stepped into the exact same space. This was good, it meant they would have some knowledge of the building they were currently storming.

The ten men standing in the room and grabbing weapons whirled around when one of their members shouted in surprise the moment before Clint's arrow stuck in his throat.

Both Clint and Natasha dove for cover behind the piles of wooden palettes on either side of them as the men began shooting at them.

"They're very much of the shoot first think later variety," Clint remarked to his partner as he waited for a pause in the hail of bullets.

A second later, both assassins were moving and sending their own projectiles winging towards the men. In the three seconds they had before the men realized they were being attacked, they had managed to take out another five.

"That may be the case," Natasha replied calmly once they had ducked back under their cover, "But they certainly are bad at the shooting part."

Clint chuckled and moved to peak around the other side of the wooden palettes, "Well, let's give them a lesson."

Two more arrows and several well-placed bullets had taken care of the rest of the group.

"We need to hurry," Natasha said. "Someone will have heard that fight and be coming to investigate, and I wouldn't put it past them to have already assembled another group to try to stop us."

Clint nodded and followed his partner as she stepped into the center of the room, his eyes scanning around the area for any potential threats.

They had almost made it to the bottom of the stairs that lead to the second level when more armed men began pouring out of a few of the offices upstairs and ringed the space below. Another group charged in through the back door. The assassins exchanged a look before moving to stand behind the stairs.

"It appears we underestimated their numbers," Clint said.

"We won't make the mistake of underestimating them again," Natasha promised, cursing silently to herself. She really would have liked to have a simple, straightforward mission just once. Instead things always seemed to go wrong.

"Come out with your hands up and I can promise you a quick death," Byrne's voice echoed through the space.

"Seriously?" Clint muttered to Natasha. "Does he really expect that to work?"

He raised his voice to address Byrne, "Sorry, but that doesn't fit in so well with our plans. How about your men lay down their guns and you come with us. No muss no fuss."

Byrne laughed, "I think not, you see you are sorely outnumbered."

"But you're clearly outmatched," Natasha chimed in. "You aren't facing just anyone. We will win."

Byrne laughed again, this time some of his men joined in his humor, "We'll see about that."

Natasha assumed the man gave some sort of signal because bullets began raining down on their position. She maneuvered herself to stand directly beneath the metal stairs so that she was able to see out between two of the steps. Clint mirrored her movements and placed an arrow in the gap he had in front of him.

Bullets pinged off the stairs, making it difficult to not flinch. Luckily, Natasha was able to concentrate on lining up a shot on one the men next to Byrne. If it was the man she thought it was, he was Byrne's lieutenant and would be missed.

The firefight continued for several minutes without pause, both assassins took out handfuls of the IRA members standing around. Natasha was beginning to get annoyed because she found herself running low on ammunition. She knew that Clint would be in a similar situation because his arrows were even more limited.

"We need to end this soon," she snarled.

"I don't see how," Clint said as he shot an arrow and managed to skewer one of the better shots. "We're still waiting for Coulson's okay to actually kill Byrne, otherwise we're only able to capture him, which means taking out all of his men before we go after him."

"This is taking too long," she replied shortly.

Clint didn't have an answer, he agreed with her and hoped that Coulson would call them soon with good news. Otherwise they were going to have to get creative.

An unexpected explosion rocked the warehouse and brought the level above Clint and Natasha as well as the stairs crumbling down. Both assassins managed to scramble away to avoid being buried by large pieces of debris. The several men standing around the top of the area were brought down with the rubble. Natasha could see a few limbs sticking out of the large pile.

She crawled her way over to Clint, ignoring the way her body protested after the beating it took when she threw herself to the ground, "Apparently they'll sacrifice their own men just to try to take us out."

"Hawkeye," Coulson's voice came over the comms.

"Please tell me you have good news," Clint demanded.

Coulson chuckled, "You are clear to terminate Byrne. Report when the job is done."

Natasha's smile was positively feral at the news, "Shall we?"

Clint grinned back at her, "Yes we shall."

Without waiting, the two stood up (Natasha gasping at the sharp pain in her ankle) so they could see above the wall of rubble and began shooting with renewed vigor at the enemy. Clint took out the most problematic soldiers while Natasha took down those standing in front of and around Byrne, hoping to free up the space around him in order to get a clean shot.

"I got him," she informed her partner two minutes later.

"Take the shot," Clint ordered, sending an explosive arrow towards the walkway with the most men on it.

Natasha's bullet spun through the air and burrowed in Byrne's skull. She watched in satisfaction as he fell backwards, his associates panicking in response.

Clint pressed the button on his bow to activate the explosive, bringing down another section of the walkway and part of the roof with it.

"Let's end this," he suggested and moved out of the rubble to begin climbing the other set of stairs. He could see that there were still close to twenty soldiers up and fighting at that point. The rest had fled, died, or fallen at some point. He knew that he was running out of arrows and would need to either retrieve them or move to hand to hand combat, and in the mood he was in, hand to hand seemed the best choice.

Natasha mirrored him calmly, heading up the stairs with a predatory walk. She stalked towards a group of young men trying to reload their weapons quickly, fumbling in their haste. Without warning, she pounced, taking out the first two with ease. The third was just bringing his gun around when her knife slid into his chest and he fell over, clutching at the knife and looking at her in shock. The final two were easy enough to take out with several kicks and another knife.

She didn't expect the man who jumped on her back and brought her to the ground. He swung his knife towards her, trying to bury it in her throat. Natasha rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding death, the knife grazing her cheek and scoring a straight line just below her cheekbone.

The man recovered quickly from the failed attack and sprang to his feet, closing in on Natasha quickly. He snarled at her, "You should have stayed behind the rubble."

Natasha lashed out at him, sending a kick straight at his head. He ducked under the kick and slammed a fist into her side, causing the breath to flee her body in one whoosh.

Natasha swore silently, she hadn't expected the man to be able to actually land a blow on her, and therefore hadn't been worried about keeping up her defense. She was getting cocky. A simple shake of her head helped her clear her mind and focus on the fight in front of her.

The man came at her again and they traded rapid blows, Natasha working to duck and dodge the larger person in order to get inside his guard. It took several minutes and two more landed blows before she saw her opening and ducked under the right cross he threw at her. She slid up against him and slammed her palm into his nose, driving it upward with the force of her blow. She felt his nose shatter, shards pushing into his brain. With a stunned look of pain, the man collapsed.

Natasha stepped away from the body and spun to make sure she didn't have any more enemies in the vicinity. She allowed herself a moment to take stock of her injuries: sprained if not fractured ankle from the explosion, bruised ribs from her fight, various cuts and bruises from the explosion and the hand to hand combat. Nothing too serious, she concluded, ignoring the trickle of blood running down her cheek from a slim slash when the guy with a knife had gotten lucky.

Surveying the area, she found that there were still two pockets of resistance in the room. Clint seemed to be handling one of them without issue, so she decided to head over towards the other group. Along the way she gathered up a handful of arrows (knowing her partner would appreciate having them back) and one of the guns left lying on the ground. The group she approached were busy watching their comrades fight Clint. Without preamble, Natasha opened fire on them, stopping only when the gun jammed.

"Cheap ass bastards," she muttered, throwing the weapon on the ground. "Can't even buy decent guns."

Natasha didn't give the men a chance to recover from her sudden attack before she was among them, her Widow's Bites crackling with energy and a knife in her hand. This group proved even easier than the first bunch she had taken out, although they did manage to hit her ribs again, causing a few to give slightly.

She launched herself at the last man standing, placing her hands on the ground and propelling her legs around his neck. She twisted her body around and brought the man crashing to the ground, snapping his spine in the process. But she didn't land as well as she had hoped, her back slamming into the ground and adding another bruise to her collection.

Clint appeared a second later and offered her a hand up speaking softly, "Not that I doubt your work or anything, but I want to make sure Byrne is actually dead before we leave. I've seen too many movies to trust a simple headshot."

She nodded and limped after him, the adrenaline already beginning to fade and allow the aches and pains to start forcing their way to the surface.

"Nice shot," Clint commented as he checked Byrne for a pulse. The man had a neat circle directly through his forehead. "Looks like our job is done."

Natasha frowned as she surveyed her partner, he looked pretty beat up, and if she wasn't mistaken he'd gotten a nice bullet crease on his bicep.

Clint returned her gaze, a frown gracing his own face as he took in her haggard appearance.

"We should call it in," Natasha said.

The man nodded and began gathering arrows as Natasha patched her comms into Coulson, "It's taken care of."

"Any injuries?" Coulson demanded.

Natasha shrugged, even though she knew he couldn't see her, "Nothing too serious."

"Phil," Clint interrupted. "We're going to crash in a hotel I know near here. I don't think we really want to draw attention to the safe house, which is what will happen if we head back there now."

"Okay, Barton," Phil said, his voice tinged with worry. "Just make sure you're back here in the morning so we can head home."

"Will do."

The link disconnected and Clint turned to his partner.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him in question, wondering why he wanted to go to a hotel rather than the safe house.

Clint shrugged in response and led the way out of the warehouse, stepping around the rubble carefully. Once in the car, he accelerated quickly away from the warehouse. Natasha remained silent as they navigated the outskirts of the city, still not speaking when they pulled up in front of a seemingly seedy hotel and exited the vehicle. Natasha grabbed her bag and the first aid kit while Clint gathered his weapons and bag.

The desk worker barely glanced at them as they booked a room for the night, paying in cash under a fake name.

Once inside the room, Natasha felt her body tensing as the pain hit her full force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment and tell me what you think. Next chapter is the moment you've all been waiting for :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Clint's large hand cupped her face as he examined the injury. His thumb ran gently across her skin, just beneath the cut.
> 
> Natasha couldn't quite name the emotion she saw in his eyes, but she knew what was about to happen the moment he glanced down at her lips. His eyes flipped right back up to hers and he must have seen her silent permission because suddenly his lips were brushing against hers.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. 
> 
> (It is also my first attempt at writing smut.)
> 
> Thank you to BlackHawksChild, Fury_Natalia, Accolade_Bespoke, bbbeeps, and Karolina94 for the comments. Sorry I taunted all of you with that preview :)

_Moscow, Russia—2004_

Natasha smiled at her reflection, willing herself into character as Natalia, the accomplished ballerina, performing as part of the Russian ballet in Moscow. It was a special performance that night in front of President Putin and other government officials. There was also going to be a large portion of the military in attendance, mostly high ranked officers but a few were rumored to be young up and comers that had been invited.

"It's time," one of the other ballerinas knocked on the open door and called Natasha away from the dressing room.

Natasha smoothed her tutu and checked that her shoes were tied properly. Satisfied, she headed out to the stage, joining the line of ballerinas chalking their shoes before stepping out. If she was completely honest with herself, Natasha didn't want this assignment to end. She felt like she was getting to live the life she would have had if Ivan had never chosen her for his program. She had wanted to be a ballerina. In a way it was cruel. The Red Room had continued to train her in ballet, only to stick her into the role of her dream life. Soon they would pull her away from it all.

Fixing a smile to her face, Natasha was in position when the curtain rose and the audience applauded. The rising music drew Natasha's attention away from the audience and into her performance. This is what made her happy, she had realized long ago, being taken away by the music.

The performance had gone flawlessly, President Putin had commended them on a job well done and departed, and several of the military officers had stuck around though in the hopes of meeting with the dancers. Natasha stood patiently while the director surveyed the dancers standing in front of him. He was her target, and it was just information she needed from him. The Red Room didn't want anyone to know that he was being targeted until after she had the information and was gone. Someone else would take care of it after that.

"A reminder that I expect all of you to behave in a proper manner with the patrons who have chosen to remain," the man lectured. "You are all dismissed until tomorrow morning's rehearsal."

A few of the girls groaned, muttering about having to rehearse so early in the morning.

The director spun to face them, "If you're nighttime activities will interfere with rehearsal, you ought to stop those activities or leave this company."

The girls looked properly shamed and walked away with solemn nods.

Natasha followed the group back into the dressing rooms and began changing her clothes into something more comfortable and casual. She knew she had to go mingle with the officers for a while, but as soon as she could, she intended to slip out and see if she could tail the director for a while.

Out in the reception area of the theater, Natasha did her best to remain unnoticed by the men around her. Most of them seemed enamored with the other ballerinas, especially those who were less than subtle when it came to showing their willingness.

A few older generals and their wives came over to talk to Natasha. She replied with polite remarks, answering their questions about herself and smiling at their titterings about the various people who would love to be here but just couldn't make it.

A young man walked up to the group and saluted the generals, "Generals, I hope you enjoyed the performance."

The generals nodded with indulgent smiles.

"Forgive my manners," the young man turned to the women in the group. "I'd like to introduce myself. Captain Alexei Shostakov of the air force. I'm a pilot."

"You're very young to be a captain," one of the women commented.

Alexei gave her a smile, "I've been fortunate in my short career in the military. I hope to show that I've earned my rank."

The women smiled at him, taken in by the handsome youth beside them.

A moment later the generals and their wives departed, off to see someone else in the crowd.

"I don't believe I caught your name," Alexei said to Natasha.

She smiled shyly at him, "Natalia."

"Natalia," Alexei repeated, seeming to savor the feel of her name in his mouth. "I saw you dancing. You were wonderful."

Natasha called a blush to her cheeks, "Thank you, you're too kind to me."

"Tell me Natalia," he continued. "Do you ever get a night off from work?"

She shrugged, "Every once in a while we don't perform. Why?"

"I'd like to take you to dinner sometime."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. That was interesting. Usually the men she met at these gatherings just asked if she'd go home with them. This one seemed different.

"Maybe," Natasha replied with a smile.

Two other young officers walked up, each with a dancer draped on their arms. They spoke rapidly to Alexei before turning and walking off. Natasha took the moment to examine the man in front of her. He was a little taller than average, slim but not weedy. His proportions were nearly perfect and his face was quite lovely to look at, almost as if it had been sculpted. He had prominent cheekbones and a straight nose, his hazel eyes sparkled with happiness, and his mouth appeared to be perpetually curved into a smile. His light brown hair had been forced into an accepted military professional style, but Natasha could see pieces of it already starting to stand up. All told, Alexei looked like he belonged in an advertisement for the military, not actively out in the field.

"You said you were a pilot?" Natasha asked once the others had left, deciding to indulge her curiosity for the night. This young man might provide her cover with more access to the director who liked meeting patrons like this.

Alexei nodded, "Yes. I finished my training right out of school and have been flying for the last five years."

He was older than her by about seven years then, but talented if he managed to become a pilot so quickly.

"I'd like to see you again," Alexei said as the party began to empty out.

Natasha smiled at him, "I'm here almost every day and every night."

Alexei caught her hand and bowed slightly, bringing it to his lips, his eyes holding hers, "I'm sure we'll meet again then, Natalia."

* * *

_Hotel Room, Dublin, Ireland—2008_

Natasha gave the dingy hotel room a glance before dumping her stuff next to the single bed. She gave Clint a stern look to force him over to sink and small counter.

"It's fine," he protested as she set the first aid kit up next to him and grabbed the pile of towels the hotel had provided.

"Either I treat it or I tell Coulson and suddenly you're stuck in the infirmary while Sanders worries over you," Natasha threatened.

Clint sighed and allowed her access to the crease on his bicep.

Using one of the wash clothes, Natasha wet it in the sink and began to clean out the wound, ignoring the way Clint's muscles twitched beneath her fingers. She blamed the hitch in his breathing on the pain from her cleaning out the wound.

"How do you want it sanitized?" she asked a few moments later, holding up a wipe and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"Rubbing alcohol," Clint replied.

Natasha used a second washcloth, covered in the rubbing alcohol to sanitize the injury. She eyed it critically for a moment before meeting Clint's eyes, "Do you want stitches? I think it'll be fine with just bandaging, but stitches wouldn't hurt."

"I'll pass on the stitches then," Clint said. "We can leave that for Sanders to decide when we get back."

Natasha nodded and quickly bandaged the injury, covering it with a gauze pad before taping it securely around his arm.

"Any other ones I need to look at?" she asked him.

Clint shook his head and gave her a small smile when he saw her skeptical gaze, "I promise. Other than a few scrapes and bruised ribs, I'm good."

Natasha sighed but didn't argue. She stepped away, wincing when her ankle twinged.

"You're turn," Clint commanded. "What's worse, your ankle or that cut on your cheek?"

Natasha thought for a moment, "Ankle."

She probably hadn't helped anything by continuing to fight and walk around after injuring her ankle.

Clint unzipped her boots and pulled them off, tossing them next to the bed. He made her stretch out both legs to compare the amount of swelling, frowning at the clearly injured right ankle.

His touch was gentle as he rotated her foot around, stretching her ankle and making the joint move. Natasha grit her teeth to keep from reacting to the pain. She could tell that nothing was broken, but it was definitely a bad sprain.

"Just a sprain," Clint murmured. He pulled out an ace bandage from the first aid kit and went to work wrapping up her ankle. "How's that feel?"

Natasha moved her foot around slowly before nodding, "It'll work."

"Good, now let me clean out that cut."

She didn't protest as he went to work with a washcloth, dabbing away the dried blood and cleaning out the wound a bit. When he held up the two sterilization options, she chose the rubbing alcohol, remaining stoic as he applied it to her cut.

Clint's large hand cupped her face as he examined the injury. His thumb ran gently across her skin, just beneath the cut.

Natasha couldn't quite name the emotion she saw in his eyes, but she knew what was about to happen the moment he glanced down at her lips. His eyes flipped right back up to hers and he must have seen her silent permission because suddenly his lips were brushing against hers.

The feather light kiss sent a warm feeling spreading through Natasha's chest. She found herself leaning forward and into the kiss before she realized what she was doing. But Natasha didn't regret the action.

Clint's hand shifted from her cheek to tangle in her hair, pulling strands loose from her braid. He pulled her forward on the counter until they were flush against each other. His tongue pressed against her lips, asking for entrance.

With a soft sigh, Natasha opened her mouth and buried her own hands into Clint's short, sandy hair.

A groan escaped Clint's lips as he and Natasha battled for dominance, teeth and tongues clashing to control the kiss.

Natasha's pupils were wide with lust when Clint pulled back from the kiss and looked at her. She was happy to see he looked to be in a similar state.

"Tasha?" he asked in a whisper, one hand still tangled in her hair, the other resting on her hip.

"Yes," she said in response, ignoring the way her breath caught at the look he was giving her.

Without warning, Clint picked her up and carried her over to the bed. It was the work of a moment for him to toe off his boots and then he was back on top of her, pushing Natasha against the pillows as he ravished her mouth.

Natasha's usually deft fingers scrabbled against Clint's uniform until she found the top of the zipper on his vest. She pulled the piece of metal down and shoved the vest off Clint's shoulders.

He realized what she wanted and shrugged the offending material completely off before returning all of his attention to Natasha. He left her lips to suck along her jawline and up to her ear.

A surprised gasp pushed out of Natasha's mouth when he latched on to the spot just below her jaw and ear lobe. Clint practically purred at the noise and scraped his teeth against the spot, allowing himself a small smirk when she gasped again, fingers squeezing his arm as she arched her back beneath him.

Clint pulled away from her to unzip her suit and help her peel her arms and legs out of the material. With wide eyes, he surveyed Natasha without her suit on, covered only by her bra and underwear, his gaze full of awe. Finally, he was allowed to look.

Natasha felt herself starting to blush beneath Clint's scrutiny. She looked down slightly, hoping he would find her attractive.

His fingers forced her chin up to meet his gaze. Sincerity bled through every syllable he spoke, "You're beautiful."

Natasha found herself lost for words, which proved irrelevant as Clint captured her lips in another kiss. His hands grazed down her sides and across her stomach, making her muscles twitch in anticipation. Wetness pooled between her thighs.

"Too many clothes, Barton," she told him as she went to unzip his pants. She hooked her feet around his hips and used them to push his pants the rest of the way off.

Clint chuckled against Natasha's lips as she worked to divest him of his pants. He kicked the offending material off his legs and settled himself between Natasha's legs, pressing against her. He knew she could feel his arousal and let out harsh breath when he felt her press against him.

His hands slipped around her back and unfastened her bra expertly, barely fumbling with the clasp. He palmed her bare breasts, staring down at her for a moment to imprint the image in his memory.

Natasha's head fell back onto the pillows when Clint latched onto one breast, sucking at her nipple while his hand played with the other, bringing it to a stiff peak as well.

He switched breasts and began to lave the other with his tongue. Clint's hand slipped lower and under the waistband of her panties.

"Please..." Natasha panted, his hand so close to where she wanted it.

Clint dipped his fingers into her folds, reveling in the fact that he had made her so wet. His fingers brushed against her clit and a surprised cry fell from her lips.

"Clint," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?" he asked with a petulant smile as he pulled away from her breasts to study her face.

"Please..." she repeated.

"Please what?" he smirked, thrilled to be making her beg.

A frustrated noise was his only response as she tried to move her hips enough to get him touching where she wanted.

"Don't tease," she commanded.

He grinned at her and slid her underwear off quickly, deciding to acquiesce to her demands.

Moving down the bed, he positioned himself between her legs and went to work stroking her clit with his calloused fingers. He slipped a finger inside easily, moaning at the way her muscles clenched around it.

He inhaled deeply, soaking in her musky scent before brushing his nose against her clit. Natasha keened before grabbing his hair and forcing his head up to look at her.

"You don't have to," she said.

Clint gave her a genuine smile, "I want to. As long as it's okay with you?"

Natasha's cheeks heated and she hesitated, "No one has ever..."

Clint immediately grasped her meaning, "Please, I want to."

"Okay," Natasha replied shakily.

Without further ado, Clint slid two fingers into her and pumped them gently. He buried his face between her legs and ran his tongue between her folds, savoring her taste.

His tongue flicked her clit a few times, earning him another choked gasp from Natasha.

He withdrew his fingers, chuckling at her disappointed whimper in response. His tongue delved into her folds once again, this time pushing inside of her while his thumb moved to circle her clit.

"Fuck," Natasha groaned, shifting her hips forward in an attempt to bring herself closer to climax.

Clint put his hand on her hips and held her still against the bed as he continued his ministrations.

Natasha was panting heavily by the time Clint returned his fingers to her, three of them stretching her nicely as he pumped them. He fastened his lips around her clit and sucked while simultaneously crooking his fingers inside of her.

"О... Боже... да..." Natasha moaned. (Oh... God... Yes...)

Clint's teeth grazed her clit and her back arched, hips shoving forward as waves of pleasure surged through her body. He stayed where he was, pulling back his head to watch as her orgasm washed over her, fingers moving steadily to prolong her pleasure. Clint wanted to remember this moment if it was his only chance to have sex with Natasha.

When Natasha was only fluttering around his fingers, he pulled them out and made a show of licking them of as she watched through half-lidded eyes.

"You taste good," he told, desire making his voice gruffer than usual.

She sat up and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, dragging him in for a filthy kiss, sucking on his tongue, as she tasted herself on his lips.

"Fuck me," she demanded against his lips reaching into his boxers to stroke his hardened length.

Clint buried his face into her neck to stifle his groan as her hand wrapped around his dick, squeezing him.

Natasha flipped them over and quickly divested her partner of his boxers. She stroked his length a few more times before moving to straddle him, his dick resting between her folds and rubbing against her clit as she ground against him.

Clint gasped at the heat and wetness that overwhelmed his senses. He forced himself to take a deep breath and regain some semblance of thought. He flipped them again and hovered over Natasha, staring into her eyes.

She pouted at him and shoved her hips against his, grinding herself against his pelvis, "Please fuck me?"

Clint grinned and moved to kiss her, stroking his hardened length once before moving to line himself up. He froze before entering her, pulling back slightly, "Shit."

"What?" Natasha asked, propping herself up on her elbows as he tried to back away.

"Condom," he replied tersely. "I don't have one with me and as much as I'd like to fuck you right now, well I'm thinking that may not be such a good idea."

Natasha looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, "Are you clean?"

Clint nodded, "Yeah."

"We don't need a condom then," Natasha declared.

"What about…?"

Natasha shook her head, "SHIELD gives me birth control. And I can't anyway. Not after the Red Room…"

Clint cupped her face and kissed her gently, "You sure?"

"Yes," Natasha breathed against his lips, arching her hips again to remind him of her desire.

Clint pumped his cock a few times to get it hard again. He lined himself up against Natasha and pushed inside her, letting out a groan of pleasure as the heat and wetness engulfed him. She was so tight and hot, muscles loosening around him as he slid slowly further until he his balls pressed against her ass.

Natasha's eyes fluttered as she tried to control her breathing, tried to keep herself from losing control. She had never felt quite so…complete…as she did now.

Clint watched his partner as she adjusted to having him inside. His eyes shone with admiration and his smile was tender as he looked down at her. He had never seen a more beautiful sight than Natasha Romanoff lying below him, lips parted as she looked up at him with unadulterated want in her eyes.

When Natasha moved her hips against him, Clint took it as a cue to begin moving. He slid out slowly before pushing back inside, keeping the pace slow, not wanting this to end.

Natasha captured his lips in another kiss before dragging him closer so she could suck on his pulse. Clint's steady pace stuttered for a moment as she nipped at his neck.

"More," she demanded in his ear, pressing her hips against his and trying to increase their speed.

Clint did as she asked and increased his pace, pounding into her harder.

It didn't take long before Natasha was writhing beneath him, gulping in air as she tried to bring herself to completion. Clint could feel her muscles fluttering around him, telling him she was close. He brought his head down to suck hard on her breasts while one hand slid between their bodies and began rubbing circles on her clit.

He felt Natasha stiffen beneath him and pulled away from her breasts to watch as her orgasm washed over her.

"Clint," she sighed, eyes rolling back as the waves of pleasure spread through her body.

His name on her lips combined with the tightness of her walls on his dick sent Clint over the edge. His brain shorted out as his strokes into her faltered and he buried himself as deep as possible, shouting as he came inside of her.

A moment later he had pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Natasha, listening to her ragged breathing, knowing that his probably sounded the same.

He forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom with a stifled groan.

When he returned to the bed, Natasha pushed herself to look at him curiously. He offered her the glass of water he'd filled (after downing a glass himself) and moved his hand up her legs, parting them gently as he brought the warm washcloth he held to the apex of her thighs.

Natasha set the glass on the nightstand beside her and sank back into the pillows when she realized her partner's intentions. He wiped lightly at the fluids staining her inner thighs and dripping from her folds. When he had finished he brushed his lips against the inside of her thigh and set the washcloth aside.

Clint slipped under the covers, pulling Natasha with him and wrapped his arms around her. She rolled onto her side and draped her arm over his chest, head nestled on his shoulder. Clint tried to ignore the happy feeling spreading through his body when she cuddled up against him. He failed to hide the goofy grin his face had morphed into, but it was okay, she couldn't see it. Feeling her relax against him, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, just below her hairline, and allowed himself to start to fall asleep.

Natasha couldn't fight the exhaustion seeping through her body anymore and felt herself drifting to sleep in Clint's arms. She studiously pushed aside all thoughts of the warmth spreading from her chest, refusing to think about what it could mean until the next day. For now, she was just going to enjoy this moment.

* * *

Clint woke slowly, senses returning to alert with an unusual lethargy. His mind replayed his last memories of the night before, causing him to open his eyes in surprise. Had he and Natasha? He looked around the room, taking in the clothing strewn across the floor and the woman lying in his arms. It hadn't been a dream, he was pleased to discover. He wasn't entirely sure he could have continued working with her if it had only been a dream. His professionalism was shot to hell.

He looked down at the woman curled up against him and smiled. She looked so peaceful in her sleep, and it felt right, having her in his arms.

He shifted slightly and frowned as he realized this meant he needed to sort through his feelings for the red head and fast. Yes, he found her attractive and the sex had been better than he'd ever dared imagine. She could kick his ass and rarely let him get away with any of his usual bullshit. And there was something about her that intrigued him. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of the strong, independent woman he knew as the Black Widow and the girl who had never had juice before or been to an amusement park he knew as Natasha. Those two seemingly separate personalities coexisted inside Natasha, and if Clint was completely honest with himself, that was certainly a part of why he loved her.

_Love?_  his brain seemed to shout at him.  _What do you know about love?_

_I know enough to know that I'm in love with her_ ,he argued back.

_You're an idiot Barton. She's only going to break your heart_. The voice in his mind seemed to sound a lot like Phil Coulson.

_I don't believe that._

Clint sighed and shifted again, trying not to jostle Natasha too much. He had to admit it, he was in love with this woman, and nothing would change that anytime soon, if ever. He didn't know when he'd fallen for her, maybe he'd loved her from the beginning, but it didn't matter because now she was in his arms and there was a chance (although small) that they might be able to be more than partners and friends.

Phil was going to kill him, Clint concluded. There was no other way around it once the man learned what happened, and while Clint had absolutely no intention of telling him, he knew that Coulson had his ways and would figure it out sooner or later.

Natasha snorted softly and tightened herself around him for a moment before drawing back slightly. Her eyelids fluttered and she blinked awake, green eyes still glassy with sleep. She met Clint's gaze and a small smile spread across her face.

"Hey," she said.

Clint returned her smile, "Hey."

He hesitated for only a moment before deciding to take the initiative and kiss her. It was a far gentler kiss than anything they had shared last night, and yet that somehow made it seem extra special to Clint. There was no urgency, no agenda behind that kiss. Only a desire to show Natasha his feelings.

She returned the kiss, not moving to deepen it but also not pulling back.

"So," Clint said when they parted for air.

"So," Natasha echoed.

"I think we should talk about this," he finally said.

Natasha nodded, "Okay."

"Was this a one-off thing? Because if it was that's the end of it and we don't ever have to speak about it again," he told her.

Natasha shrugged in response, not trusting her voice. She feared she would tell him that she didn't want it to be a one-time thing, that she wanted to spend the foreseeable future in bed with him. But she was afraid of his reaction and of the weakness behind admitting those things.

"I'm taking that shrug as the possibility that this could happen again," he continued. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I don't want it to be a friends with benefits situation either..."

"No?" she asked, mildly surprised by the fact that he didn't expect her to keep sleeping with him, though she had to admit that his ability to continually surprise her was kind of disappointing. She should have learned to expect the unexpected with Barton at this point.

"No. I want you, Tasha," Clint declared, trying not to let his trepidation show. He didn't know how Natasha would respond to his sentence. He plowed on when she didn't pull away, "I want all of you: body, mind, soul."

Natasha blushed and looked down, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you want all of that? I don't know if you've noticed Clint but I'm not the most stable or emotional person. I'm broken." Her voice was nearly impossible to hear as she said the last two words. She looked away from the man next to her, refusing to meet his gaze.

Clint's heart clenched at the pain in her voice as she questioned his motives. He debated for a fraction of a second before catching her chin between his fingers and lifting her face back to his, "Because I love you."

Natasha stiffened, eyes widening in panic as she processed his words, "You... what?"

Clint tightened his grip on her slightly to keep her from bolting, "I'm in love with you."

Her mouth was hanging open before she snapped it shut, forcing her face to assume its usual emotionless mask (failing for the most part). Her voice was positively devoid of feeling when she spoke, "Love is for children."

Clint chuckled darkly, "Is that what they taught you in the Red Room?"

"They were right," she replied steadily. "Especially in our line of work, it will only get you killed."

Clint shrugged, "I disagree, and it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Natasha moved to pull away from the man beside her, anger flashing in her eyes when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer.

"You don't get to run from me," he said in her ear, voice a low rumble.

Natasha fought the shiver that threatened to overtake her at his tone and his words, "I'm not running."

Clint smirked, "Now, sweetheart, we both know that's not true. And I'm not letting you run away because that won't change my feelings for you. I won't force you into anything, but you don't get to run away before we've even begun to talk about where we're going to go from here."

She closed her eyes and focused on steadying her breathing, refusing to show him the effect his words were having on her.

"Tell me, what do you want?" he whispered.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes, knowing that staring into their gray-blue depths would only lower her resolve and end up with her admitting that she wanted him too.

"I want you. I want to be in a relationship with you," Clint said after a few seconds of waiting for her to answer. "I want to come home from a solo mission to you, and I want to be the one you come home to. I want to spend every day and every night with you from here on out."

Natasha eyed him skeptically, disinclined to believe his words.

"Whether you believe me or not, it's true," he continued. "So tell me, what do you think about being in a relationship with me?"

"It's against protocol," she finally choked out, trying to find a reason any reason to refuse him. She knew he would respect her refusal if she gave it, but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to tell him no.

Clint snorted, "Yeah, you and I really care about protocol. I don't give a damn what SHIELD says, they can't tell me how to live my life anymore than they can tell you how to live yours."

"I—" Natasha began before stopping.

Clint waited patiently for her to begin speaking again.

"I can't say it back," she whispered.

"That's okay," Clint said softly. "I don't expect you to, not now not ever. But I wanted you to know how I felt. I know you've never had it easy with men, so I want you to know that I'm in this for more than just the sex, although it was pretty amazing."

Natasha gave a wry smile at the end of his statement before looking past him and focusing on the wall for a minute.

Knowing she was thinking, Clint remained silent, formulating his next argument or his surrender based on what she said next.

"Okay," Natasha announced a moment later.

"Yeah?" Clint asked, failing to keep the hope out of his voice.

"Yeah," Natasha assured him, leaning up to brush her lips against his.

Clint deepened the kiss, pouring all of his emotion into it, making sure she knew that he cared about  _her_  not whatever persona she was wearing at the moment.

When he pulled away her gaze was unfocused and a lazy smile was curling her lips slightly.

"We need to call Coulson," she said, forcing herself into a sitting position and nearly groaning as the pain from the previous nights activities (both painful and pleasurable ones) made themselves known.

"I'll do it," Clint volunteered, watching as Natasha moved into the bathroom and turned the shower on.

Clint slipped his boxers back on and pulled his cell phone out of his bag to call Coulson.

"Where the hell are you?" Phil demanded as soon as he answered the phone.

Clint blinked in confusion, "At the hotel like I said we would be?"

"It's been over twelve hours since I last heard from you," Phil snarled.

A glance at the bedside clock revealed that he was right. Clint ran a hand through his hair, "Shit, Phil. Sorry, we got here and patched everything up before crashing for the night. Honest to god, we just woke up."

Silence extended across the line.

"You slept with her, didn't you?"

The question was asked with a deadly calm that told Clint his friend was pissed.

"What are you talking about?" Clint asked, hoping he could avoid answering because he wouldn't lie to Phil.

"You and Romanoff slept together," Phil declared.

"Phil, you know that sometimes we sleep together," Clint continued.

"I'm not in the mood for you being a smart ass today," Phil warned. "Did you and Romanoff have sex last night?"

Clint tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, "Yes."

"Are you kidding me?" Phil practically yelled.

Clint remained silent, knowing his handler just needed a moment to process the information.

When Phil had calmed down he spoke again, "Clint, there are protocols for these things. I'll overlook it if this was just a one time thing, but it can't happen again or I'm going to Fury."

"You won't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because she and I make a good team, because we're good for each other, and because if you do that we're done," Clint threatened, hating himself as the words left his mouth.

"Clint…" Phil said, hurt and anger clear in his voice.

"Listen, we're going to take a few days off. We'll be back within a week and by the end of today I'll have sent you a mission report. We can do the interview when we get back and then we'll talk about everything else," Clint declared.

"You can't just decide to take a few days off."

Clint rolled his eyes, "I'm fairly certain we've both earned a few days. SHIELD won't be able to contact us, but if you really need something, I'm sure you'll find a way."

"And what am I supposed to tell Fury?"

"That's up to you. Tell him the truth for all I care," Clint said, letting his annoyance with the other man show in his voice. "See you in a week."

"Wait—Clint!" Phil was cut off as Clint hung up the phone.

He clenched his fists in his hair, "Shit." How had things gotten so messed up between him and Phil. Never before had he ever contemplated ending his friendship with the man. But he was tired of Phil telling him that Natasha was a bad idea or that he was making poor decisions. He just wanted his friend to trust and support him.

Clint shook his head, he would deal with that later. For now, he was going to enjoy spending time with Natasha.

With a glance at the cracked bathroom door, he smiled slightly and shed his boxers once more.

Natasha was enjoying the warmth of the shower as it penetrated her aching muscles and loosened up the stiffness in her limbs. She had finished washing her hair and body several minutes ago and was just languishing in the water at this point, not wanting to get out and have to face reality. She knew Clint was outside and that he was talking to Coulson. When they went back to SHIELD, how would things have changed? Were they going to be constantly sleeping together? Or was nothing going to change other than the occasional addition of sex? Or was he going to expect her to start sharing feelings and going on dates?

Natasha couldn't help the knot of tension that settled in her stomach at the thought of having to be in a  _relationship_. The last time she'd tried to have anything other than a business relationship had ended poorly. She'd have to tell him about Alexei, she realized, frowning at the idea. She didn't want to relive that part of her life. She just wanted to move on with what she currently had.

And then there was the fact that he said he loved her. She really did believe that love was for children, after all, how could it be anything else? It was a liability, a weakness for enemies to exploit. Why would he allow himself to have such a weakness? And most importantly, why on earth would he say he loved  _her_? She was broken and psychotic and dangerous. There was no way this would end well for either of them.

Natasha couldn't help the smile that came to her face when she heard the bathroom door open and Clint step inside. Despite her panicked thoughts, she did find herself wanting to be with him, he made her want to feel.

The man stepped into the shower and moved under the water with Natasha. He turned to face her, not actually touching her, and gave her a gentle smile.

"The good news is that we're going to take a few days off," Clint told her.

"And the bad news?" Natasha asked doubtfully.

"Phil's pissed and we'll probably be in trouble when we get back," he said with a shrug.

Natasha regarded him for a moment before nodding, "I think we can handle it."

Clint's smile widened and he bent down to kiss her. Natasha pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he muttered against her lips.

Natasha pulled back, watching as he moved to grab the shampoo bottle and began washing his hair. Arousal flared in her belly as she took in his sculpted form.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To my safe house here," Clint replied, stepping beneath the water again and rinsing the soap out of his hair. "Unless you have a better place in mind."

"That works for me," she said. "Though I don't have a whole lot of spare clothes on me…"

Clint smirked at her, "Who says we'll need clothes?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and stepped away from him as he moved to grab her, "I'm going to get dressed."

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself, squeezing the excess moisture from her hair before moving into the bedroom and trying to find all of her clothing from the previous night.

* * *

_Clint's Safe House, Dublin, Ireland—2008_

Natasha had to admit that she liked Clint's safe house in Dublin. It was on the top floor of a modest apartment complex and it was clear that the man hadn't spared any expense on the luxuries. The entire kitchen, living, and dining room were covered with dark mahogany floors. The kitchen cabinets were made of the same wood and color and the counters were black granite. The dark colors worked well in the space.

"There are two bedrooms," Clint said almost shyly, scratching the back of his head. "You can, uh, put your stuff in whichever one you want. I usually use the one at the end of the hall."

Natasha nodded before moving down the hallway to drop her stuff off while Clint dug around for the pizza delivery menu he'd mentioned. She only hesitated for a moment before dropping her stuff in the room he'd said he used. Worst case scenario, she could move it into the other room, but she hoped that they'd end up sharing a bed again, even if it just involved sleeping.

"Pizza's ordered," Clint informed her when she returned to the kitchen.

She nodded silently and glanced around the kitchen nervously.

Clint frowned and studied his partner as he dug a beer out of the mostly empty fridge. He held it up to Natasha, "You want one?"

"Sure," she said after a moment, biting her lip at the awkwardness. She had to tell him.

"Natasha," Clint said slowly after he handed her the drink. "What's going on?"

She closed her eyes and sank down into a seat at the table, "I have something to tell you."

Clint took a seat across from her, worry poorly concealed, "Okay, what is it?"

Natasha took a deep breath to prepare herself before looking Clint directly in the eye and speaking, "I'm actually a widow."

Clint shook his head in confusion, "Um, what?"

"I'm actually a widow," she repeated, slower this time.

"Yeah, sorry, that wasn't what I expected you to say. You mean that you actually have a dead husband?"

"I thought you should know."

Clint shook his head, an affectionate smile on his face, "While I appreciate that and all. Why tell me? I have a feeling there's more to this story."

Natasha fidgeted, "I just felt that you would want to know, especially since you say you're…"

"In love with you," Clint finished for her. "So what's the story?"

"I was sixteen when we met, working undercover in the Russian ballet for the Red Room," Natasha began after realizing he probably wasn't going to let it go anytime soon. "Alexei was one of the patrons."

"His name was Alexei? Sounds pretentious…" Clint muttered.

Natasha gave him a sharp look, "We started a relationship, it was part of my cover, not that he knew it. In fact, he never knew what exactly I did for a living, instead he thought I was a highly sought after ballerina that the government liked to use to make Russia seem better. Anyway, just before my mission ended, he proposed to me."

"And to maintain your cover you said yes," Clint said.

Natasha nodded.

"But you said the mission was almost over?"

"That's where things got complicated," she continued. "I really did like Alexei. He was a good man and genuinely cared about me, or at least the me he thought knew. My superiors ordered me to maintain the relationship after the mission as a possible cover within Russia. They told me I had to marry him. But they knew I liked him, so they always had him as a hostage whenever I thought about leaving."

"Is that what happened to him?"

"No. When I was eighteen, Alexei and I were living in Moscow together. He was a high-ranking military pilot and went out on a training run one day. A malfunction in the jet's engine caused the plane to crash with Alexei inside. There was nothing he or anyone else could have done," Natasha finished, almost sadly.

"You don't think…" Clint mused.

Her harsh laugh confirmed his suspicions, "Of course I think the Red Room was behind it. I'd become too attached to him. To prove my loyalty, I had them annul the marriage so that it was terminated whether he was dead or not."

The doorbell rang, drawing the two out of their conversation. Clint went to answer it, returning a few minutes later with two pizzas. He stuck one in the fridge and set the other on the table in front of them.

"Is that all there is?" he asked, pulling out a piece of pizza for himself. "You were married and then your bosses killed your husband? No kids or anything."

"You're surprisingly good at guessing," Natasha remarked, grabbing her own slice.

Clint's jaw dropped and the cheese began to slid off his pizza, "You have a kid?"

"No," she said softly. "But when I was seventeen I did get pregnant. I don't know if it was Alexei's for sure. But I took care of it. I didn't want him or the Red Room to know. As a result of that abortion and the experiments and surgeries I had while with the Red Room, I can't have kids. That's why it's okay for us to not use a condom. I still take the SHIELD mandated birth control just to be safe."

Clint nodded and ate a bite of his pizza, "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

Natasha nodded uncomfortably and focused on her own food, not wanting to continue the difficult conversation.

"Can I ask you something?" Clint asked a few minutes later, breaking the silence that had descended over them as they ate.

Natasha nodded, swallowing her bite of pizza.

"How old were you when they started…training…you as a seductress?"

That wasn't the question she had expected at all, "It was always part of it I guess, how to get people to like you eventually turned into how to get them tell you all their secrets. But you're not asking about that part of being a seductress, you were wondering about the sexual part."

"You don't have to," Clint interjected.

"I was twelve," Natasha told him flatly.

Clint blew out a long breath, anger flaring in his eyes. He clenched his fists below the table and worked to control his fury, "Based on what you've told me, I'm kind of surprised they waited that long."

She gave him a wry smile, "The Red Room had a twisted sense of decency. They waited until we started menstruating. It became a punishment option after that… And honestly, it was the first punishment you got after getting your period. I was twelve."

"I want to kill them," Clint finally said as her words sunk in.

"You and me both," Natasha replied. "However, I get the first shot at them."

Clint huffed a frustrated laugh. "I guess I can't argue with you there. But I may have to dig them up and kill them again."

Natasha watched as he stood and grabbed the empty pizza box, moving to the kitchen to throw it away. She followed him and stopped behind him. He had frozen, braced against the counter, body tight with anger.

She reached out a hand tentatively and placed it on his holder.

Clint turned to face her.

When his gray-blue eyes met her green ones, she held his gaze, "Clint, it's okay."

"No it's not."

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But  _I_  am okay. I had to learn to cope with everything a long time ago. I never would have survived otherwise. I told you because I trust you. Please don't let this change the way you see me, please don't start pitying me…"

Clint's eyes narrowed at the plea in her voice, "Tasha, never."

Natasha lowered her gaze and studied the floor, not wanting him to see how much his words meant to her.

Clint stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, "Nothing you say could ever make me see you as anything less than the incredible, strong, beautiful woman I'm in love with."

Natasha buried her face in his chest, accepting the hug as emotion flooded her body. She squeezed her eyes shut as a tear leaked out from the corner of her right eye. She didn't want him to see her cry.

The assassins stood in the kitchen, just holding onto each other for a few minutes before Natasha pulled away. She schooled her face to be as emotionless as possible.

Clint smiled at her, eyes shining with adoration, "So, we should use these few days to continue your cultural education."

She groaned in mock annoyance and allowed him to pull her into the living room, his grip was firm around her hand.

"I think I've got  _Lord of the Rings_  lying around here somewhere…"

"You've got me alone in your safe house and you want to watch movies?" Natasha teased him with a smirk.

Clint's smile turned devilish, "Trust me darling, there will be plenty of time for that."

"Don't call me darling."

"Why not?"

"I don't do nicknames. No cutesy pet names or anything," Natasha declared.

Clint smirked as he pulled out the movie he was looking for and went to work putting it into the DVD player, "That's funny because you've let me call you Nat and Tasha without any resistance."

"That's different," she explained with an eye roll. "Those are just derivatives of my name, so I'll let you get away with those, as long as you don't use them in public."

"Does Phil count as public?" Clint asked curiously.

Natasha eyed him, "Does he know?"

"He may have guessed when I called him this morning…" Clint admitted, rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding her narrowed eyes.

"Barton," Natasha warned. "Did you tell him or hint to him?"

"No," Clint's response left no room for argument. "He guessed because he's very good at reading me, and because he's just been waiting for this to happen."

"He doesn't like me, let alone trust me," Natasha commented.

Clint shook his head, "He's getting there. And even then, he's wrong. It's not his business anyway since he is not part of this relationship."

"He is our handler though, and if SHIELD finds out about this not only would they split us up as partners, I'm sure there would be some sort of retribution against Coulson," Natasha said.

"We're all adults," Clint replied mildly. "We'll figure it out. Now, I suggest we stop talking about sad things and instead focus on enjoying the film."

Two hours later, Natasha had to admit that she was enjoying the film quite a lot. Sometime in the last half hour she and Clint had moved from just lying on the couch together to what could only be described as making out. Having never been given a chance to be a teenager, Natasha found herself liking the simplicity of kissing on the couch.

Clint's hand slipped up her shirt and drew lazy circles on the small of her back as he moaned against her mouth. Natasha found herself grinding down against him in an effort to release some of the tension building in her lower abdomen.

"Bedroom," Clint grunted a few minutes later.

Natasha nodded breathlessly against him, sitting up on his lap. When he scooped her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist and went to work biting and sucking at his neck as he carried her into the bedroom.

"You know," Natasha said as he stripped off his shoes and shirt before joining her on the bed. "You're the first person _I've_  ever chosen to be with."

Clint kissed her sweetly, "I'm honored."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on our favorite assassins finally getting together :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Natasha stepped inside and waited him to close the door before speaking, “I’m ending this.”
> 
> “This what?” Clint asked, still confused by her knocking and now the sudden discussion.
> 
> “This,” Natasha repeated gesturing between the two of them.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.
> 
> Thank you Accolade_Bespoke, Karolina94, BlackHawksChild, Rachel <3, Kessa, Flinx8, ViviChick, Annemarie, Angie_Martinelli, and itsame for commenting. You're comments made my day :)

_Red Room, Unknown Location—1999_

Natalia sat motionless in the classroom with the fourteen other girls. They had been sent inside by one of the guards who monitored their meals and had been waiting since then. Fifteen minutes was a long time to ask a group of eleven-year-olds to wait, but these weren't ordinary girls. Natalia knew that not one of them would move from her spot until they were given permission, she planned on doing the same. For all they knew, this was a test. Being sat in a room and forced to wait for who knows how long without disobeying the order to stay there.

One of the girls shifted in her seat, making the wooden chair creak. Several girls turned to look at her, she offered an apologetic shrug.

Alina—the only girl near Natalia's level in the group—leaned back to in her seat, surveying the room as if she was queen and this her court.

Natalia pushed down her urge to punch the smug brunette in the face. She wouldn't risk getting punished for something so trivial. No, she'd save it for the next time they were paired up for sparring.

Alina turned her gaze to Natalia with a devilish smirk, "Natalia, you're Ivan's pet, do you know why we're here?"

The red head clenched her fists below her desk, keeping her temper in check, "No."

"Pity," Aline said. "What's the point of being his pet when he doesn't tell you anything? Is it because he takes it easy on you? You couldn't handle the training if you didn't have Ivan's protection."

Natalia rolled her eyes, Alina didn't know what she was talking about or was clearly making things up. Sure, Ivan seemed to enjoy singling her out, but he never went easy on her. More often than not, the man actually expected more of her than the others. Alina was just jealous.

Alina's eyes narrowed at the lack of response. She opened her mouth to speak again when the door opened. Every girl in the room straightened herself up into perfect posture, eyes wide and focused on the men who had entered the room. Natalia didn't budge, she was already sitting straight up, and she kept her eyes focused on the front of the room, knowing she'd see the people soon enough.

Ivan and two military men stepped to the front of the room. Ivan's lips curled as he took in the girls gathered in front of him. Natalia met his gaze unflinchingly as the other girls looked away after a moment. He inclined his head towards her slightly, telling her he'd noticed her over all of the others in the room.

Ivan looked away a moment later and spoke the assembled group, "Today you will hear from General Listovsk and Colonel Coptin as well as myself about the grandeur of the Soviet Union."

Several of the girls exchanged looks, they'd all learned the facts of the USSR in their other classes. What did he mean when he said grandeur?

Natalia settled back into her seat, eyes open and alert, just waiting to hear what was about to come.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

To say he was mad was an understatement. Phil Coulson was pissed and while everyone seemed to understand that point, they were struggling to figure out why. The man didn't have a reason to be so upset, after all his last mission had gone almost flawlessly and was a success, his agents had been on vacation so he hadn't actually had to do any work, and Nick Fury liked him.

What people didn't realize was that the second thing was what was giving him the most grief at the moment. Barton and Romanoff had essentially gone AWOL and would be answering to Coulson when they returned. Hell, he'd even given Fury an abridged but accurate version of the story so that the man knew Phil didn't support the agents' sudden vacation. They were going to be in trouble when they got back.

Phil glanced at his watch before going back to tapping his pencil on the reports he was supposed to be reading for Fury. They were supposed to be back that morning, but it was now relatively late in the evening and there was still no sign of the Black Widow or Hawkeye.

Phil picked up his phone, hoping that he'd missed a call or a text from them in the last five minutes since he looked at his phone. No new messages.

He checked his watch again and sighed, staring out the office door he'd left open.

He picked up the phone again and opened it up, ready to dial Clint's number, knowing the younger man would answer for him.

No, Phil told himself. He wasn't going to call, they were fine. And they needed to realize that they couldn't do things like this again. Clint needed to learn that Phil wasn't going to be there to help bail him out, especially when he ended up in compromising positions with none other than Natasha Romanoff.

He turned back to the report in front of him and began flipping through the pages. The words passed in front of his eyes but failed to imprint on his mind and he soon found himself rereading a paragraph for the fifth time with still no understanding of what it said. Phil pushed to his feet, determined to take a break and stretch his legs before continuing on his walk.

His phone buzzed on the desk. Phil lunged for it, flipping it open before he even registered who the notification was from.

"They're back. I don't think they're staying on base," read the message from Maria Hill.

"Fury already talked with them," she followed with a second text.

Phil released the breath he hadn't known he was holding, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. He no longer had to worry that they were going to find themselves in trouble while an entire continent away. He exited his office and headed towards the men's locker room, knowing that was where Clint would head to drop off his gear if he wasn't staying on base.

Opening the door to locker room, Phil found it deserted except for a lone, blonde man standing beside a locker as he placed a quiver inside.

Phil cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

Clint turned around to see his friend and mentor standing there with an angry look on his face, "Hey Phil. We just got back, I was about to come see you."

Phil didn't say anything.

"Obviously you're upset with me," Clint said with a frown. "I'm sorry that we just bailed like that, but I needed some time to sort things out with Natasha."

"Natasha now?" Phil remarked.

Clint rolled his eyes, "Yes, Natasha."

"Fine, you needed time to work things out," Phil nodded. "But you went about it wrong. You don't get to tell me that you're not coming back, you ask permission and wait for me to get it cleared."

Clint had the decency to hang his head at those words, "You're right. I'm sorry. And Fury just spent twenty minutes lecturing me about that."

Silence hung heavy between the two men before Clint spoke again, "You didn't tell him."

Phil sighed and shook his head, "I'm hoping I won't have to."

"I told you it's your choice, it won't change anything between Tasha and I."

"Clint, please think this through. There is no way this ends well. Best case scenario, you end up no longer being partners or one of you gets killed on a mission. Worst case she breaks your heart, betrays SHIELD, and then leaves."

Clint shook his head, "Your worst case scenario won't happen."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. I trust her and I love her," Clint declared softly.

Phil's eyes widened, "You what?"

"I love her."

Phil shook his head, "No, you are not going there, we are not doing this. I'm going to Fury and telling him. I won't see you get hurt."

Clint laughed humorlessly, "So you think separating us will keep me from possibly getting hurt? You clearly don't understand that you will be the one hurting me in that scenario, that you'd be the one losing a relationship."

"You'd really walk way from our friendship?" Phil asked quietly.

Clint nodded, "Yes. I will respect you if you go to Fury for a valid reason. Because you're worried that I'm going to get hurt or that she's going to turn on us, that I won't accept."

Phil nodded, jaw tight, "Then I guess we're at an impasse."

"I guess so," Clint said sadly. He shouldered his backpack and moved to the door. "It would be nice to have you trusting me again… How long does she have to stay here before you realize that I was right and that we can trust her?"

Phil didn't have an answer for the archer.

Clint nodded once, "That's what I thought. I'll see you tomorrow for training."

Phil watched in silence as his friend and agent walked out of the door. He somehow felt worse than he had an hour ago when he was worrying about his agents…

* * *

_Clint's Apartment, New York City—2008_

By the time Clint had made it back to his apartment, his anger at Phil had died down slightly. He wasn't happy by any means, but he was able to understand what the man was trying to do. He just didn't agree with it. And until Phil understood Clint had no intentions of leaving his new relationship with Natasha, then Clint planned to keep Phil at arm's length. He didn't think he would stay sane if he was constantly being told that he was making poor decisions. He took Phil's criticisms to heart, and right now, he couldn't handle that.

Clint toed off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the couch. He surveyed his apartment while running a hand through his hair. Empty pizza boxes and takeout containers covered the kitchen and his bedroom floor. He should probably clean them up he realized. It didn't take him too long to gather it all into a plastic sack and walk it down the hall to the trash chute.

Upon his return to his apartment, Clint picked up his phone. He dialed his favorite Chinese restaurant and ordered himself enough food to last for the week. He really needed to get to a grocery store.

He channel surfed until the food arrived before settling on a late night shopping channel. The marketer seemed incredibly excited about the new and improved vacuum cleaner now on sale. Clint glanced around the room idly, wondering if he should vacuum. If Natasha was going to be around more (and he sincerely hoped she would be), maybe he ought to make more of an effort to keep his house clean.

When he finished eating, he shoved the leftovers into his fridge and went to bed. While Clint would admit to having trouble sleeping more often than not, he was usually able to fall asleep without too much trouble. But for some reason, his mind would not shut off and let him sleep; it skipped from his conversation with Phil to the various gadgets he kind of wanted to buy after seeing them advertised to Natasha.

How could Phil not understand?

Natasha was incredible.

Phil was being ridiculous and narrow-minded. Worse, he wasn't supporting Clint, something he'd promised to do.

Those collapsible cups would be useful to save space…

Tasha smiling at him when he made a stupid joke.

Not that he needed to save space, everything he owned fit into his apartment with room to spare.

Tasha blushing when he said something sweet to her (he noticed even though she always tried to hide it).

He wanted Phil to support him on this, to help him figure out how to love someone who had never known love.

Natasha falling asleep in his arms.

He sat up at the thought, was that the problem? Was it really so simple as that? In the last weeks he'd grown accustomed to falling asleep with Natasha next to him. The last week it had been with her willingly in his arms. Is that why he couldn't get to sleep?

Clint debated with himself for only a moment before standing up and pulling on a shirt and shoes. He grabbed his keys and his phone from his bedside table. On his way out the door he grabbed his leather jacket, remembering that the autumn nights were starting to be chilly.

It wasn't until he was standing outside of her building that Clint realized Natasha might be asleep. Even if she wasn't, she'd probably still be pissed at him for showing up without a word of warning.

Clint took a deep breath and punched in the code to her building (she'd given it to him a couple of months ago when he was coming by with some of her stuff from SHIELD). It was worth a shot, even if she ended up taking a shot at him.

He rapped smartly on her door, listening intently for movement on the other side. He heard shuffling only a few seconds later. His voice was low when he spoke, "It's me."

Natasha threw the door open, already lowering her gun. She stepped back to allow Clint into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Clint said apologetically, gesturing at her clothes.

Natasha shook her head and looked at him, expression unreadable, "I couldn't sleep."

Clint cracked a smile, "Me neither."

With a sigh, Natasha led the way further into her apartment, setting her gun on the kitchen counter before turning to face Clint, "We're pathetic aren't we?"

He shrugged and stepped closer, invading her personal space, "Maybe."

"We shouldn't be doing this," Natasha said.

If Clint had needed to identify the emotion in her voice, he would have said she sounded sad.

"Why not?"

"It's a liability in the field," Natasha replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

Clint placed his hands on her hips, "We're professionals, I think we can handle it. And anyway, even if we didn't do anything about it, the feelings would still exist."

Natasha remained silent, hesitation still in her eyes.

"Are you going to try to break up with me every time I see you?" Clint asked with a smile.

Natasha smiled and shrugged, "Who knows?"

Clint chuckled, "Are we done with me convincing you that things are going to be okay? Because I'd really like to kiss you now."

Natasha rolled her eyes and leaned up to press her lips against his. When she tried to pull away, Clint tightened his grip on her hips, knowing she would push him away if she wanted to. He pulled her against him, deepening the kiss.

Natasha twined her arms around the back of Clint's neck, a contented sigh leaving her lips when the kiss intensified.

It was Clint who pulled away fully a few minutes later, he chuckled at her pout, "We should probably get some sleep."

Natasha frowned but nodded.

They headed into the bedroom and crawled into bed together, Natasha immediately curling up next to her partner, head between his neck and his shoulder and arm resting on his bare chest. Their legs tangled together.

"Did you see Coulson?" Natasha asked curiously.

Clint nodded.

Natasha immediately understood that his silence on the subject meant it hadn't gone very well. She pressed a kiss to his neck and snuggled closer. Clint's arm around her tightened and he kissed her forehead. His words were soft, "It will work itself out."

The two assassins found themselves quickly pulled towards sleep, no longer plagued by errant thoughts, finally relaxing enough to let their guards down.

"I love you, Tasha," Clint whispered in the darkness as her breathing evened out.

Natasha fell asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

_Natasha's Apartment, New York City—2008_

Clint woke up before Natasha did. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, trying not to wake up the woman sleeping next him. He'd been having a very nice dream about Natasha and now his dick was demanding attention. Closing his eyes, he willed his erection to go away. He really wanted to just stay in bed next to Natasha, not end up taking care of things in the bathroom.

Beside him, Natasha's breath hitched. He froze for a moment before squirming a bit, trying to put some distance between him and the woman curled against him.

Natasha opened her eyes, looking at Clint with the least guarded expression he'd seen on her face, eyes still clouded with sleep.

"Good morning," Clint managed to tell her.

Natasha smiled at him shyly, "Good morning."

When she shifted next to him, pressing herself against him momentarily, Clint stiffened, his breath rushing out in a puff of air.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him in question of his reaction.

Clint hoped his thoughts weren't completely obvious when she looked at him.

The smirk she suddenly had told him his hopes were in vain.

"Problem?" Natasha teased moving until she was straddling Clint, but not actually touching him. Her hair hung down on one side of her face.

Clint shrugged, "Not anything I can't handle."

Natasha's smirk grew, "I have no doubt you're quite good at…handling…these things. But perhaps you'd prefer if I helped."

"I wouldn't say no," Clint admitted with an answering smirk.

Natasha's lips crashed against his and he took it as permission to slide his hands up her shirt, cupping her full breasts. He moaned against her mouth when her hips connected with his, bringing the friction he'd been craving. He plucked at her nipples, enjoying the sigh he earned from her for his efforts.

She pulled away from his lips to pull off her shirt, giving him full access to her breasts.

Clint sat up and began dropping open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. He held her breasts and squeezed them, massaging them as he kisses turned into gentle bites. Natasha let out a moan when he sucked at the hollow of her collarbone.

Reaching a hand down between them, she pressed her hand against his erection, earning her a grunt from him.

Natasha placed her hand on Clint's shoulder and pushed him away from her. She shimmied out of her pants, giving him a pointed look to do the same thing. Not wanting to disappoint her, Clint was quick to do, as she wanted. Then she was back on top of him and Clint realized that this morning, Natasha was going to fuck him. His balls tightened at the thought.

Natasha reached her hand down to grasp his cock. She wrapped her hand around him and held him steady as she sank down, wet enough for it to be a painfully smooth glide into her.

Clint was given a moment to recover his thoughts while she stayed frozen on top of him, eyes blown wide as she adjusted to him inside of her.

"You're so wet," Clint said with a smirk. "We're you dreaming about me?"

Natasha ignored him and moved her hips in a tight circle, clamping down tight on Clint's dick.

"Fuck," he swore as his brain threatened to short circuit.

Natasha flashed him an amused smile, "I thought we were."

His hands came to rest on her hips as she levered herself up and down on his dick, riding him slower than he would have expected. Clint moved one of his hands around to stroke her clit, making her gasp in surprise at the wave of pleasure his actions sent thrilling through her.

Her pace increased as Clint continued rubbing small circles around the little nub. Natasha placed her hands on his chest for better leverage and began fucking Clint in earnest, chasing her release. Clint kept his hand where it was, allowing her to grind her clit against it each time she rocked down. Breathy moans were falling from her lips as she road him and Clint found himself equating her with a fantasy creature, too beautiful to be true.

Natasha tensed above him, crying out as she clamped down around his cock.

Clint held her in place, hands on her hips, as she rode out her orgasm. When her eyes focused on him again, he began fucking up into her relentlessly. Now he was the one chasing release, grinding himself as deep into her wet heat as he could.

Natasha began playing with her breasts, a sight that brought Clint right to the edge. He thrust up into her again, stilling as his balls tightened and his orgasm washed over him. She pushed herself up a moment later, allowing his cock to slip out of her. She walked into the bathroom, on relatively unsteady legs Clint was pleased to note, and turned the shower on.

Clint climbed out of bed and followed her into the bathroom. He watched as she stepped into the water, eyes closed as the warm spray hit her.

"You gonna join me?" Natasha asked, cracking one eye open to look at him.

Clint grinned, stepping into the water, "If you're offering."

* * *

Natasha could tell that things were stressed between Clint and Coulson the very first day after their return from Dublin. During their morning training session the two men barely spoke beyond terse courtesies. Phil kept looking at her like he expected her to transform into some horrible monster and start breathing fire. Natasha understood why they were arguing, she just didn't know what she could do to fix it. It didn't feel right, being in a room with the two of them barely speaking.

And if the rumors were true, their relationship had been stressed since Clint brought her in. Natasha had never liked the idea of causing a rift between the two men. She didn't think she was worth Clint losing Coulson. Apparently, Clint thought differently. This was the second time he'd chosen her over his handler.

Natasha knew she wasn't going to intentionally hurt Clint. But she also knew that there was every chance she'd screw it all up anyway, and then Phil would be right. Clint would come crashing down and it would be her fault. Natasha honestly cared for her partner—she'd never admit it and she didn't believe in love—but she did want him to be happy. At the moment, she made him happy, but in the long run? Well, Natasha was a liability and a train wreck. It wasn't going to end well.

A week after Dublin, Natasha found herself outside of Clint's apartment door. She'd spent most of her free time this last week in his apartment, allowing him to continue her cultural education, learning how to cook with him, and plenty of time spent in bed. They talked a lot more than Natasha had ever expected them to. They told each other about their pasts, about their fears, about their hopes for the future.

If Natasha was honest with herself, she had given him everything he needed to tear her down. She was afraid of how hard it was to be away from him, how much she wanted to just hide away from the world when she was around him, how he made her feel important, how much she felt for him…

Natasha steeled herself and knocked on the door (something she hadn't done for the entire week since he'd told her to just let herself in, even giving her a key).

Clint opened the door with a confused but happy smile, "Hey?"

Natasha stepped inside and waited him to close the door before speaking, "I'm ending this."

"This what?" Clint asked, still confused by her knocking and now the sudden discussion.

"This," Natasha repeated gesturing between the two of them.

Clint cocked his head, "Do you mean our relationship? Our partnership? Or both?"

"Relationship," Natasha clarified, barely meeting his gaze.

"Why?"

"Because it's going to probably end in the end of our partnership, and I'd like to prevent that," Natasha said, nearly believing the lie herself.

Clint shook his head, "You're lying."

"And because it's ruining your relationship with Coulson," she continued. Her chin raised in victory when she saw the flash of acknowledgment in his eyes.

"That's—" Clint began.

"Not worth losing over me," Natasha said softly.

Clint shook his head again, "I don't agree with you, and since it's my relationship with him it's my choice. And for the record, I don't think our friendship will end because of you. He'll come around."

It was Natasha's turn to shake her head, "He hasn't yet. And he's right, there is no way this ends with you intact."

"Are you planning on breaking my heart?"

"No, but—"

"Then I'll survive," Clint declared. "What's the real reason you want to end this, Tasha?"

Natasha hesitated for less than a second, but she knew he noticed, "I just gave you my reasons."

"I don't believe you."

"Then why do you think it is?" Natasha demanded, crossing her arms.

Clint shrugged and stepped closer to her.

Natasha took a step back, not wanting to let him get into her personal space. She had every intention of this being the end, him kissing her (as he probably planned to do) would only weaken her resolve.

"I think you're scared," Clint said, coming to stand a hairsbreadth away from her.

Natasha swallowed, how had he managed to peg that? And so quickly too. It had taken her days of internal struggle to figure out why she wanted to get away from this.

"I think you're scared, and you're running away instead of facing your fears."

"What exactly am I afraid of?"

Clint smirked, "Of messing up, of trusting someone, of letting yourself feel."

"I—" Natasha said before stopping. She didn't know what to say in response to that. He was right, but she certainly wasn't going to admit it to him.

Clint took a step back and gave her a small, genuine smile, "Tasha I love you. I'm not going anywhere and I trust you not to screw this up any more than I'll screw it up. But it's a relationship, we're both going to make mistakes and when it happens we'll get through it. If you really want out, I'll watch you walk away. We'll never mention it again and we'll be able to keep our professional partnership intact. But if you're running because you're scared, well that's just not fair. I'm scared too. I won't stop you if you want to leave though."

Natasha stared at him for a moment before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. It was the first time she initiated a hug.

Clint reacted immediately to Natasha stepping into him, his arms came around her and pulled her tighter against him. He rested his cheek on her hair, inhaling the sweet cinnamon scent she gave off.

"Tell me what you want," Clint pled.

Natasha shrugged as she stepped away, "I don't know. You're right though."

Clint grinned, "Of course I am. Come on, I was just starting to make spaghetti."

Natasha followed him into the kitchen, moving to sit on the counter beside the stove as Clint starting preparing tomato sauce.

"You know I trust you, right?" Natasha finally asked.

Clint looked at her and nodded, "I do. And I hope I never lose that trust."

"Are you sure you're okay with how things are with Coulson? I really don't want you to lose your friend because of me. I'm not worth it," she continued.

Clint stopped what he was doing and moved to stand in front of Natasha, "Tasha, you're worth it. However, I maintain that it won't come to that. Phil just needs time to adjust, and once he does everything will be perfect. Right now, I'm okay with how things are, promise."

Natasha nodded, not quite believing him, but hoping his words were true.

"Can we agree to stay together for the foreseeable future?" Clint asked her seriously, studying her face.

Natasha straightened her back and looked him in the eyes. She nodded honestly.

"You know you can tell me if it gets to be too much, I'll back off. If you're scared, I'll do whatever I can to make it better," Clint promised, pressing a gently kiss to her forehead.

Natasha nodded once again, "Okay."

Clint kissed her hard on the mouth, pouring everything he felt for her into that one kiss. When he pulled away, her hands were resting on his shoulders and she was smiling. He couldn't help but return the smile as he went back to preparing dinner.

Natasha watched Clint, unwilling to hide the smile gracing her face. She didn't want to hide around him anymore. She'd had every intention of ending things when she came over, now she felt like maybe they did have a chance. If Clint could believe in them so much, maybe it was time she tried to believe as well.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

Two weeks after his agents' return from Dublin, Coulson found himself standing outside of Director Fury's office. He wasn't sure why he'd been summoned, only that it probably wasn't a good thing. Last he'd heard from the director, there were no active missions requiring the Black Widow and/or Hawkeye to complete.

He tapped on the door before pushing it open, knowing he didn't have to wait for permission to enter. The man at the desk held up his hand to keep Phil from talking immediately as he finished a phone call. Hanging up the phone, Fury looked at Phil appraisingly.

"Everything okay?" he finally asked.

Phil sighed, "Clint and I are—conflicting, but it's fine."

"About Romanoff?" Fury said with a raised eyebrow.

Phil shrugged.

"I can have her reassigned if that would help. We're at the point where we trust her enough that Barton doesn't need to be watching her constantly."

"Honestly, that would probably just make things worse. Am I the only one who still thinks we're going to regret bringing her in?"

Fury shrugged, "The only one who matters."

Phil ran a hand over his face, "Barton's attached to her, and I can't see it ending well."

Fury nodded, "Do we need to end the partnership?"

"No, they're professionals," Phil replied quickly, not wanting to be the one who ratted them out.

Fury nodded, "Good."

"Sir," Phil asked after a moment. "Why am I here?"

Fury sighed, "The Council wants to speak to us. I think they've got a mission for Barton and Romanoff."

"Why does that sound like a bad thing?" Phil mused.

"Because the Council hates them," Fury said.

"Any idea where they're going?"

"Let's go find out."

The two men exited Fury's office and headed into the Council room. A moment later the monitors lit up.

"Good afternoon Director Fury, Agent Coulson," Councilwoman Beaufort greeted them.

The men nodded in acknowledgment and stood waiting for the meeting to get started.

"We've decided to assign Agents Barton and Romanoff to a mission," the woman continued.

"What's the mission?" Fury asked mildly.

It was Councilman Dickerson who answered with a smirk, "Budapest."

"Why are they going to Budapest?" Phil demanded.

"We've recently received intelligence that Anita Von Brech has resurfaced," Dickerson explained.

Phil closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath to keep from reacting to the news. Von Brech was in the top ten of SHIELDs wanted list. During the Cold War, she'd worked hard to constantly bring tensions to a breaking point between the US and Russia. After the fall of the Soviets, she'd been sowing unrest in former Soviet states and Russia itself, not to mention pushing extremist groups to target the US. Her schemes had a habit of causing chaos.

"Intelligence says she's planning to start World War III," Moryakov interjected. "We'd like to prevent that."

"How exactly is she starting World War III?" Phil wondered.

"We're putting together that information now," Beaufort replied. "According to reports she's found a linchpin."

"That's all we've got?" Fury said skeptically.

"As we already said, information is being put together for the two of you and Agents Romanoff and Barton," Dickerson snapped. "We expect this to be dealt with quickly and with the utmost discretion."

The screens turned off.

"Of course," Phil said, wondering if they realized using Barton and Romanoff didn't exactly scream discretion. They were the best assassins in the world and tended to attract attention wherever they went.

"I'll see how long until we have briefing packets," Fury said with a heavy sigh as he led the way out of the room. "Here's hoping this doesn't go as terribly as Russia did."

Phil nodded, "I'll track them down and get them here for a briefing in an hour?"

"Are they on base?"

Phil shrugged, "Not sure. They may have gone to lunch. Clint's been threatening to take her to get real New York pizza."

"Make it two hours," Fury said. "It'll give us more time to prep."

"Yes, sir," Phil replied, earning an eye roll from the other man.

Phil turned and headed back to his office, already making mental lists of what he needed to get prepped before the briefing.

"Briefing in two hours," he texted Clint and Natasha. "Don't be late."

"See you then," Clint replied immediately.

"Of course," Natasha's text popped up a moment later.

Phil sighed and sat down at his desk, maybe Fury and Clint were right, maybe they could trust Natasha. But did Phil trust her with Clint and more importantly with Clint's heart? That wasn't something he was sure he could answer.

Two hours later, Phil walked into the usual briefing room to find both of his agents present and looking at him expectantly.

"We got a mission?" Clint asked.

Phil nodded, "We're just waiting for Fury."

"This was last minute?" Natasha wondered, nodding at Phil's empty hands.

"The Council informed us right before I texted the two of you," came Phil's calm reply.

Clint's eyes narrowed and Natasha nodded before turning to study the door

"Phil," Clint said, his jaw clenched. "Is this going to end up like Siberia where intel was shit and the mission was impossible?"

The other man shrugged, "Not sure. I hope not. I really don't have much more information than you."

Clint frowned and crossed his arms, sinking down into his chair. He didn't like the idea of the Council being the ones to issue orders.

"Can you at least tell us where we're going?" Natasha asked after a few minutes of silence.

Phil studied her for a moment before giving her a curt nod, he knew she knew he knew about the relationship and wasn't happy, "Budapest."

"Anybody speak Hungarian?" Clint quipped.

Natasha shrugged earning incredulous looks from both men.

"I'm not fluent, but the Red Room wanted us to be able to function somewhat is all former Soviet states. We'll be able to find people who speak Russian and English there too," she explained.

"I think I might have a former contact who moved there. Maybe I'll try to find 'em while we're there…" Clint mused.

Fury strode into the room, dropping a stack of files onto the table, "Sorry I'm late. What have you already covered?"

"That we're going to Budapest," Clint chimed with a smirk.

"That's it?" Fury said, eyeing Phil.

Phil shrugged in response, he hadn't really had much more information.

Fury rolled his eye, assuming (correctly) that Phil's distance was a response to his dispute with Barton. He shook his head before speaking to the agents in front of him, "Anita Von Brech has resurfaced. She's in Budapest trying to start World War III according to our sources on the ground."

"How is going to start a war from Hungary?" Clint scoffed.

"The first World War began with the murder of one man," Natasha reminded him. "But why Hungary?"

"She may have found a linchpin," Phil replied.

Clint frowned, "Those actually exist?"

"Theoretically? Yes," Phil said. "No one has ever been able to prove it because, as far as anyone's aware, no one has successfully caused a potential linchpin to fall. If someone managed to do it, well there's every chance it would work."

"So you need us to stop her from toppling the linchpin?" Clint clarified.

Fury shook his head, "Kind of. We need you to kill her before she takes out the linchpin. And if you have a chance, we'd love to know what or who the linchpin is. But your primary goal is to eliminate Von Brecht."

"How long do we have?" Natasha wondered.

"A week."

"Seriously?" Clint demanded.

Fury nodded seriously, "This is a time sensitive manner. We can't let her succeed, which means taking her out before she has a chance to do anything."

"The Council has also asked that you be discrete," Phil added with a warning look to Clint.

Clint held up his hands, "Hey, I try to be discrete, it's not my fault people tend to overreact. But doesn't this mean I can't use my bow?"

Fury and Coulson exchanged looks for a moment before Fury spoke, "You aren't prohibited from taking it, but it should be a last resort."

"Is there anything else we should know?" Natasha asked.

"Most of what you need is in that file," Fury nodded to the table. "You'll have covers for entering the country, you're flying commercial. And we know where Von Brecht is staying, so you'll be able to start there and take her out quickly."

"Yes sir," the assassins chorused.

Fury nodded one at them and swept out of the room.

"Phil, you'll be on the ground with us, right?" Clint asked.

The man nodded, "That's the plan. We'll have to move fast once we get there in order for this to work. I want to give the two of you as much surveillance time as possible."

Natasha was flipping through the file. She raised her head and caught Phil's eye, "We don't have much to go on beyond she's there and trying to start something. We don't know who's with her or if she's working with the Hungarian government. Based on what I know of her, Von Brecht has a large network. We should be prepared for this to go south."

"I've learned to always be prepared for things to go south with the two of you," Phil sighed. "That's part of why I think more surveillance time is best. I don't want us missing anything that could make things more difficult."

Clint snorted, looking up when he felt the other two staring at him, "Sorry, I just read that she spends her time shopping. Like who does that? I'm here to start World War III, but first let me buy some new clothes."

"Well if she succeeds, she may not have another opportunity to buy those clothes," Natasha quipped. "It could just be an act, or a front for what she's really doing."

"Are we done here?" Phil interrupted.

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly while Clint nodded.

"I'll arrange transport for the morning," Phil said before leaving the room.

Clint turned to face Natasha, "So you've never been to Budapest?"

"No, you?"

He shook his head, "I've heard it's a nice place though."

Natasha shrugged, "I know that Hungary ended up part of the USSR after World War II and Budapest had been destroyed during the war. The Soviets rebuilt a lot of it."

Clint frowned, "It's strange hearing you talk about the good things the Soviets did. We tend to have a very negative view of it in the US."

"I was raised to believe that the USSR needed to rise again," she stated. "It really shouldn't surprise you to know that I have a relatively positive view of them. Anyway, communism is a great idea in theory."

"In theory," Clint agreed. "But it doesn't work because people suck."

Natasha chuckled and stood up to lead the way back to their shared quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment if you'd like :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Thoughtless, reacting on instinct alone, Natasha dove forward, driving her body into Clint and bringing him to the ground as the shot rang out.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Accolade_Bespoke, BlackHawksChild, Fury_Natalia, Angie_Martinelli, mademoiselle, and ViviChick for commenting.
> 
> A word about the delay in updating. I'm really sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. I'm almost caught up to the point that I have written through, which makes posting everyday a bit more challenging. I spent all of yesterday away from my computer and had some family stuff come up last night (nothing bad), that sapped my energy and made it impossible for me to post before class today. As it is, I will do my best to keep posting everyday. However, tomorrow I present my thesis, so there won't be a new chapter.

_Red Room, Location Unknown—1995_

Natalia tried not to let her fear show as she stood in the room alone. She hadn't been told anything, just grabbed and shoved into this room. She'd been in there for a long time, it seemed. But she couldn't really tell. They were working on learning how to gauge time, but no one was very good at it. Natalia knew it had been more than an hour but less than five hours.

Her lips were trembling and her fists were clenched when the door finally opened. She'd been wondering if they'd forgotten about her. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she may have missed lunch. That would really suck because that meant she might not get anything until tomorrow.

Two men walked into the room, both holding guns. One of them stayed by the door while the other looked at Natalia with detached interest, as if she was some sort of experiment. Maybe she was.

Natalia kept her fists clenched at her side, wanting to demand what was going on. But she wasn't supposed to ask questions or speak unless spoken to.

The man watching her suddenly raised his handgun and aimed it at her.

Natalia's eyes widened, but she remained firm. This was a test, she couldn't flinch away from this. She wouldn't disappear like the other girls. She had nowhere else to go, so she would stay here and be the best.

CRACK!

The bullet ripped into Natalia's arm before she had time to react.

Her hand came up automatically to the wound as a scream left her lips. The tears she'd felt early at the thought of being stuck in the room forever spilled out of her eyes. Natalia bit her lip to keep her choked sobs from making any noise. It felt like her whole body was on fire…

That guy had shot her…

Glaring at the man, Natalia squeezed her arm, pain shooting through her body. She studied his face, memorizing it. She wouldn't forget him and when she left, she'd make sure he died.

The two men turned and left, leaving the girl standing alone in the room once again.

Unable to stand any longer, Natalia sat down against the wall, cradling her arm against her chest, trying not to think about the warm blood sliding between her fingers.

* * *

_Budapest, Hungary—2008_

Clint couldn't help staring at Natasha as they sat in a street cafe in Budapest. They'd been trailing Von Brecht for the past two days and were now sitting across from the store she'd entered. It was an expensive store, and it'd probably be a while before she emerged. They hadn't gained any valuable information about her plans in those two days, but they knew that Von Brecht wasn't stupid enough to wander around unarmed. It had made tailing her difficult at time.

When they weren't watching from above, Clint and Natasha were working as their covers. And Clint loved that part of this mission. He watched as Natasha smiled at the kids playing on the street in front of them. They were kicking a ball around, yelling and running and just having fun.

Clint wondered if Natasha ever had fun like that before she was taken. Watching her right now made him feel like he wasn't seeing her cover, he was seeing a bit more of the real Natasha Romanoff.

Feeling his gaze on her, Natasha turned to him, still smiling, "What?"

He shrugged, "You're beautiful."

Natasha rolled her eyes as he caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a second. He didn't let go once he'd lowered it to the table.

"You're a sap," Natasha told him.

He shrugged, he never said he wasn't.

Von Brecht stepped out of the store, holding onto a paper bag embellished with the store's logo.

Natasha stiffened and focused her attention on the woman while Clint pulled out his wallet and dropped money on the table, more than enough to cover their drinks.

Von Brecht surveyed the street, blinking in the sunlight before she pushed her sunglasses off her head and over her eyes. She began walking away from the store, carefully navigating the cobblestones in the heels she wore. The group of kids sent the ball flying towards her, making her stop and wait while they converged in front of her, fighting over the ball. She looked disgusted by the group, Clint half expected her to kick them.

He and Natasha surreptitiously slipped out onto the street, Natasha lacing her arm through his and standing a bit closer than she needed to. Clint couldn't help but smile as he imagined the picture they made, two happy lovers. If their lives had gone differently, would they have ever been able to be something as simple as that?

He wasn't sure. They probably wouldn't have met. But for a moment, he found himself craving a future where they could stroll down the street as lovers without worrying about anything.

They spent the afternoon tailing Von Brecht, stopping to shop in the stalls around the areas she stopped at. The two assassins didn't stop smiling, and though their report would say it was all undercover, they both knew that the smiles were genuine.

* * *

Von Brecht had to be the most boring criminal mastermind in the history of the world, Natasha figured. For days, all she'd done was shop and eat and stay in her hotel. The woman didn't seem to be doing anything while in Budapest let alone trying to start World War III. But Natasha knew looks could be deceiving, that's how she always got away with things. No one suspected a pretty young girl, just like no one suspected a woman who seemed to have nothing better to do than shop. If Natasha hadn't read the file on Von Brecht and known stories about the woman from the Red Room, she would have been questioning the kill order.

As it was, she already wondered if they had to do it by the end of the week. It would be best if they could figure out what the plan was before they killed the woman, that way they could ensure no one else tried to complete it. When she'd mentioned that to Coulson and Clint over breakfast, the handler had shrugged saying "we have our orders."

Now sitting in a nice restaurant, Natasha studied the woman who was speaking to the young waiter. She seemed to be waiting for someone else, gesturing towards the empty place across from her.

"Who do you think she's meeting?" Natasha asked Clint as she sipped at her wine. They'd ordered a meal so as not to appear out of place.

Clint shrugged, "Probably someone who wants to sell her the actual city, it seems she's bought pretty much everything there is here."

Natasha smiled at his comment, he had a point.

A tall blonde woman walked into the restaurant, sitting down and kissing Von Brecht on both cheeks. They embraced and sat down, sending the waiter scurrying away with their order.

"ебать все," Natasha muttered. ( _Fuck everything_.)

Clint raised an eyebrow.

"Can't hear," she said nodding her head towards Von Brecht and her companion.

"Yeah, I can't read their lips either. No idea what language they're speaking at all," Clint nodded in sympathy.

"Shouldn't we be trying to figure out her plan before we take care of it?" Natasha complained a few minutes later. They'd been mostly silent as they ate their food.

"Probably," her partner shrugged in response. "But who are we to tell the Council how we should do our job?"

"It's like they purposely set us up for failure," Natasha pointed out. "I get that they don't like either of us, but wouldn't they put the world ahead of their feelings?"

"You'd think so, especially since they have so much influence over SHIELD and the world. But no, instead they'd prefer hate us and try to destroy us or just generally give us shitty assignments."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm really any better working here than with the Red Room," Natasha admitted quietly.

Clint reached out and took her hand, "We see the list of horrible things. The Council may make questionable decisions more often than not, but they are trying to make the world a better place. I think that there are times when you have to take the best you're going to get, and in this world, that's the best we're going to get."

Natasha nodded, "Still, it would be nice to actually trust the people you work for."

Clint chuckled, "I trust them more than any of my previous employers. Hell, some of my previous employers have hired me and then put out a hit on me so that they don't have to deal with paying the other half or having me talk."

"Fair enough."

The assassins turned their attention back to the two women across the room. They were talking animatedly and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The blonde seemed like an old friend of Von Brecht, which probably wasn't a good thing, but there was nothing to tell Clint and Natasha what the women were doing.

"Another fascinating day in the life of Anita Von Brecht," Clint muttered as he surveyed the women, annoyance etched across his face.

* * *

Clint fastened the guards onto his wrists and hands, flexing his fingers to make sure they weren't too tight. He shouldered his quiver, bow, and sniper rifle case before heading out of the bedroom. Phil gave him an appraising look before nodding. Natasha stepped out of the bathroom a moment later, dressed head to foot in her suit and armed to the teeth. She and Clint exchanged nods as well.

Tonight, they were going after Von Brecht, and they were going to succeed at taking her down. It shouldn't be too hard. Von Brecht always spent her nights in her hotel suite, windows and drapes closed. She remained away from the windows then, making a long distance kill difficult (but not impossible).

Natasha would be going in as a maid from the hotel, dropping off new sheets and apologizing for the inconvenience. With any luck, she'd get the curtains open and Von Brecht in front of the window. Clint would take the shot and they'd be done for the night. Of course, if that wasn't possible, Natasha would be able to help him out by giving him Von Brecht's location in the room, or she'd handle it herself. The biggest issue would be getting Natasha out of the room if she was the one to do it. Von Brecht's guards wouldn't take kindly to it. So they were hoping everything would go according to plan and then they'd be on a plane headed back to the US.

Clint left the safe house twenty minutes before Natasha did to allow himself time to be in position before she arrived. He was lying on the roof across from the hotel with a perfect angle on Von Brecht's room when he heard Coulson's voice, "Here we go."

A few moments later, Natasha appeared on the street and sauntered into the hotel as if she owned the place. She'd belted a trench coat around herself to disguise her uniform and would soon be slipping into the supply closet for an extra maid's uniform.

Clint watched through his scope as she reentered the lobby as a maid, pushing a cart of linens into the elevator. No one questioned her. He swung his scope up and focused on the elevator doors on floor six, where Von Brecht was. Natasha emerged right on schedule. So far things we're going exactly as planned.

"I've lost visual on Widow," Clint said into the comms, keeping his breathing even. He refused to let the panic threatening to overwhelm him succeed. Natasha could take care of herself and Clint would only give her a reason to end things if he started treating her differently in the field.

Natasha knocked on the door of the hotel room, calling sweetly, "Housekeeping."

"I thought you already came," Von Brecht said from the other side of the door.

Natasha gave the peephole a smile, "We're very sorry about this but it seems that some of the laundry piles got mixed up and there's a chance that old sheets ended up on the beds. We're making sure everyone gets a new set of sheets."

Von Brecht opened the door slowly and gestured for Natasha to come in.

Natasha lifted the stack of linens off the cart and stepped into the suite, "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience."

Von Brecht watched as she began to strip the bed of its sheets, "It's no problem."

Natasha remade the bed as quickly and perfectly as she could (it helped that with the Red Room her room and bed were required to be spotless). She stood with a smile at Von Brecht, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Von Brecht shook her head while Natasha gathered up the old sheets and started to leave. She froze as she wandered through the living room area, "Excuse me ma'am, but I noticed you have your curtains closed."

"Yes," the woman replied. "What's your point?"

"I just know this room has a wonderful view, and I've heard there's a chance of fireworks tonight…" Natasha said, stepping over to the window. "Let me just get these opened for you so you can see it!"

Von Brecht stepped forward, reaching out a hand as Natasha pulled the curtains open, stepping aside and hurrying to pick up the sheets.

She had just bent over, watching front he corner of her eye as Von Brecht went to close the curtains, when the window shattered, sending glass raining down into the room. Von Brecht stumbled backwards and fell as the bullet pierced her skull.

Natasha let out a scream as a show to the guards who came rushing forward. A moment later, they had both fallen with precise shots through the heart.

"Tell me when someone comes to investigate," Natasha ordered as she slid over to the table littered with papers.

"What are you doing?" Clint asked.

"Seeing if I can't get some information as to what exactly her plan was here," Natasha explained. The papers shifted beneath her fingers, spreading apart and revealing page after page of neat handwriting.

"They're in the elevator," Clint informed her.

Natasha hummed to herself as she continued searching, hoping to see something that she could decipher now. There! Scribbled on the corner of a piece of paper: a date and a location. She folded the papers and tucked them into her catsuit, stripping off her uniform and darting out of the room into the hallway. She was lurking behind a potted plant next to the elevator when the doors opened and a security guard emerged, eyeing the abandoned maid's cart and open door suspiciously.

He hurried down the hall, allowing Natasha to slip into the elevator. She was downstairs and headed out the backdoor less than two minutes later.

Clint was collapsing his rifle back into its case and headed down from the roof as soon as she'd cleared the building.

"We've got a problem," Natasha told Clint and Phil.

"Is Von Brecht out?" Phil demanded.

"Von Brecht is down," Natasha replied. "Bullet to the head is pretty effective, nice shot Barton."

"Then what's the problem?" Clint asked, holding his breath and hoping she was okay. Maybe he should have stayed in position a while longer.

"The papers in Von Brecht's suite had a date and place written down," Natasha explained. "I think whatever she had planned is happening tonight. I have a feeling she knew we were coming and let us kill her so that her plan could go off without a hitch."

"What's the location?" Phil said.

"An office building about thirty minutes from us. Whatever it is starts in fifteen minutes," Natasha answered quickly.

"How sure are you about this?" Phil said.

"It's worth looking at, and I have a feeling that we need to be there," Natasha stated.

Clint had reached the rendezvous point and could see Natasha approaching from around the corner. She hurried over to him with a determined look in her eyes.

"Go," Phil finally said. "But keep in touch with me. Let me know when you get there."

Natasha recited the address into the comms before turning to Clint. He gave her a nod and she took off running through the streets, Clint a step behind her.

* * *

At first glance, the office building looked inconspicuous. It was only because she was looking for something odd that Natasha saw them. There was a group of people crowded into one of the offices. To a casual observer, it would seem like shadows or maybe a night meeting, but Natasha knew something was wrong.

"There," she whispered pointing out the window to Clint.

"I see them."

"Coulson," Natasha called over comms. "We're here. There's a group of people in an office that don't look like they belong."

"You're clear to go in, but be careful, we don't know who or what is inside," Phil warned.

"Copy," Clint said. He turned to Natasha, "How do you want to play this?"

"We stick together," Natasha said. "We'll go in the front door and work our way up. Ideally, we'd sweep each floor but I think we need to stop whatever is happening there."

Clint nodded in agreement, "Sounds good to me. I'm going to leave the rifle out here, it's too cumbersome to be any good inside."

"Shall we?" Natasha asked him after he'd set the case down behind a dumpster.

"Yes we shall," he replied with a savage grin.

The two assassins crept into the building, exchanging looks when the found the front doors unlocked and unalarmed. There was definitely something shady going on, who left their office building unlocked when no one was there?"

A leg stuck out from behind the security desk in the lobby. Natasha surveyed the room while Clint bent to check the man they found there. He stood up and shook his head.  _Dead_.

It wasn't all that surprising that the security guard had been taken out. Von Brecht and her ilk were known for being brutally efficient in reducing witnesses. It was how they'd survived this long.

Natasha led the way over to the staircase, not wanting to risk getting trapped in the elevator.

"This is too easy," Clint breathed as they crept up the stairs, approaching the fourth floor. At every level they'd stopped and listened for movement on the other side of the door, hearing nothing so far.

Natasha nodded in agreement, had the group really come without extra security? Or was it all outside the office they used?

Four floors later, the assassins came to a stop, each assessing the mental map of the facility they'd come up with from the ground and the time they'd spent inside of it. The floor sounded silent from the stairwell.

Clint held up his hand and counted down from three, stepping through the door when he reached zero, trusting Natasha to follow his lead. She swung out of the stairwell behind him, gun raised to point down the hallway. He held an arrow loosely on the string of his bow.

Creeping down the hall, they encountered no resistance. There were no guards posted outside of the room and the door had no windows, making it impossible for the office's mysterious occupants to know what lurked outside.

Clint backed away down the hall, followed by Natasha. They ducked into an open office, making sure to keep out of view of the open doorway.

"We're in," Clint told Phil, tapping on the earpiece he wore. "We're about to head into the office. No sign of any guards, but we know they've got at least one guy competent with a gun. The security guard is dead."

"Good luck agents," Phil told them.

Natasha took the lead this time, walking silent as a cat down the hallway. She stopped outside the office door and checked to make sure Clint was with her. Without preamble, Natasha pushed the door open and brought her gun up, flanked by Clint. They stepped into the office, wearing identical smirks at the shocked look on the faces of those inside.

"Now what possible reason could you fine gentlemen have to be here right now?" Clint asked.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the men demanded.

"I'm the guy who's gonna put an arrow through your heart if you don't start answering my questions," Clint threatened. "Let me ask again, why are you here?"

"You can't stop us," the man challenged. "We've already got most of the files downloaded and then it's only a matter of time before we've get them up on every website. It'll be chaos."

Natasha shook her head, "Sorry, but that doesn't work so well for us. So how about you guys come with us and we take that flash drive you've got. No one needs to get hurt."

"We're not the ones who will be getting hurt," the man threatened. He looked at the young man sitting at the computer, typing furiously. The man turned to the leader and nodded once.

Before Natasha or Clint could react, the leader was screaming "NOW!" and a host of armed men were piling into the hallway. While the group was distracted by their believed victory, Natasha lunged forward and ripped the flash drive out of the computer, she shoved it into the pouch on her belt and spun to face the threat.

"We might need some help here," Clint muttered into the comms.

Phil's voice was panicked when he replied, "What's happening?"

"We underestimated their number. We've got about seventy-five guys between us and the exit."

"I'm scrambling a team now," Phil replied.

Natasha pulled out her second gun and turned back to the men in the room, "See, I was going to let you all walk away, but not anymore."

She fired six rounds before the men reacted, each killing the man it had been sent at.

The young man at the computer had managed to duck behind the desk when she raised her gun.

A moment later, one of the men outside the door had pulled out a grenade and thrown it into the office.

Clint knocked Natasha out of the room and covered her as the explosion destroyed the interior.

"What was that?" Phil demanded.

"Grenade," Clint wheezed out.

Natasha shoved him off of her and sprang to her feet, sending two men to the ground with well-placed bullets. She holstered her guns and ran towards the approaching men, throwing herself at one of them furiously. She slammed a kick into his ribs. The air rushed out of the man and he lowered his gun reflexively. Natasha had ducked closer and jammed her fist against his nose, snapping it and sending the man tumbling to the ground unconscious.

She ducked under the man who approached her swinging. Natasha kicked his legs out from under him, grabbing onto his shoulder as he fell and pulling him towards her as a SHIELD. The other men froze for a moment, unsure if they were supposed to attack their comrade or let the woman go. A moment later, Natasha sank her widow's bit into his neck, bringing the man to the ground. Before his companions could react. She'd vaulted herself over the falling man and into the crowd of soldiers.

Her widow's bites brought down five more guards before a startled shout drew her attention away from her targets and over to where Clint was dealing with the other half. She could see that he was holding his own, though there was a group in the back working furiously at something.

"Eyes," Clint commanded as he loosed his next arrow.

Natasha obediently dropped her head, shielding her eyes from the bright flash of light that exploded from the weapon. The others in the room weren't so fortunate as the smoke and light blinded them, causing some to choke.

Stepping backwards, Natasha extracted herself from the group and moved to stand back to back with her partner. When the smoke cleared, they were both firing into the army coming at them from both sides.

"We need a better position," Natasha told Clint, watching as he downed another man before turning back to her targets.

"I'm on it," Clint said. "Cover me?"

Natasha stepped in front of Clint as he ducked away to kneel beside the closed door behind them. She withdrew her second gun and continued working to thin out the group. She knew that she wasn't making nearly enough progress as the men began to creep ever closer to her position. She couldn't hold them back forever.

"Hawkeye," she warned.

"Got it!" Clint told her, spinning and sending an exploding arrow into the hallway while he dragged Natasha into the now open conference room. They fell to the ground as the explosion triggered, sending waves of heat through the room. Natasha kicked out and managed to push the door closed with her leg. Her ears were ringing as she sat up to look at Clint.

"That'll give us a few minutes," he said shakily. Clint blinked several times, shaking his head. He was as bad or worse than Natasha was after the two explosions.

"We need backup," Natasha stated.

Clint nodded in agreement and raised his hand to his comms. He frowned when the line seemed unresponsive, "Coulson, come in."

The line remained silent. Natasha sent Clint a worried glance as she reloaded her guns. It was unlike Coulson to not answer them.

"Coulson, please respond, we need backup here ASAP," Clint said clearly. He waited only a minute before cursing and turning to Natasha. "Tell me if you hear anything through your earpiece."

Natasha nodded mutely, unsure what he was planning to do.

"Coulson, Hawkeye and Black Widow requesting extraction from hostiles. We are in need of backup, repeat, we need backup," Clint said once again.

Natasha's eyes widened as she realized she'd heard none of his pleas through the comms. Instead, the line had remained dormant. She shook her head at him, frowning. Now what? They had no way of notifying Phil and requesting help…

Clint closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment, "The explosion must have damaged the ear pieces. The techs told me they were delicate…"

Natasha frowned harder, a manufacturing issue like that could easily lead to someone dying out in the field. Explosions were common enough that their comms needed to be able to withstand them.

"We're gonna have to fight our way out of here," Clint said, eyes wide.

Natasha nodded, "Help me flip the table."

Together, the two assassins turned the large table in the conference room on its side. When they heard the soldiers approaching the door, they simply pushed the chairs away before ducking behind the table.

The door flew into the room as one of the larger guards slammed himself into it, not realizing it had been unlocked and would have probably broken up for anyone who managed to hit the door handle just right.

Clint sent a bullet whizzing towards the man, answering Natasha's questioning gaze with a shrug. He was running out of arrows, so it was time to make the switch.

The next few minutes involved exchanging bursts of gunfire against the men trying to flood into the room. So far, Natasha and Clint had managed to repel every attack, killing or wounding most of the people trying to enter their commandeered conference room. The table was quickly chipped and pitted from the hail of bullets slamming into it.

Clint knew it was only a matter of time before the men wised up and threw something inside the room, turning to run as the bomb went off. He just hoped that they'd be able to last long enough for Coulson to figure out something was wrong and send them some help. Or at least until they were given an opportunity to escape. Clint hoped they'd make it out alive.

Natasha hissed a bullet whizzed past her face, nearly touching her cheek. Clint wasn't surprised to see a feral gleam in her eyes as she returned the attack with renewed vigor.

It was only moments after Natasha's attack that the men retreated from the doorway, leaving a sentry of sorts to stand guard outside the room and monitor the assassins.

Clint and Natasha sank down behind the table, both breathing hard and resting their backs against the table. They were tense as they listened for any sign of the fight beginning again.

"How many do we have left?" Natasha breathed.

Clint shrugged, "Too many probably."

"Well we fucked this up," Natasha replied.

Clint chuckled, "To be fair, we didn't have time to do it right. And anyway, what did we expect with a Council assigned mission. Honestly, I'm surprised things went so well until now."

Natasha couldn't help but smile slightly in return, he had a point.

"Hopefully," Clint continued. "Phil heard the explosion and realized we were in trouble when the comms went dead. He should be here with backup soon."

"Do you think it's working again?" Natasha asked hopefully.

Clint shook his head, "If it were we'd have Phil screaming at us and demanding why we hadn't answered him the first eight thousand times."

The two assassins sank into their own thoughts, waiting for the next round to begin.

Clint found himself reminiscing about the first days of this mission, when they were happy and in love. The mission seemed easy enough and they were able to enjoy being together. God how he missed those days… But his heart clenched as he realized that this might be the mission he or Natasha died on. He didn't want to live without her, so it wasn't an option for that to happen on this mission.

Natasha sat in silence, thinking about how to get out of this situation. If it was just her, she'd offer herself as a prisoner and then take them out when she had a chance. With Barton along, it was too risky. They could easily be separated and/or used against each other. She just wanted to get out of this. She didn't want to die yet, she still had so much red to wipe out.

Soft rustling alerted the assassins to the approaching men.

They both stood, turning to watch the door over the table edge. Each of them intended to be the first to fire, as soon as someone showed up in their line of sight.

A second later, dozens of guards came pouring towards the doorway only to find themselves met by a bullets and arrows. As the enemy began to fire back, Clint turned slightly and caught Natasha's eye. She raised an eyebrow at him in question, never taking her eyes fully from the door as she shot.

Clint's arrows flew unerringly as he spoke, "You know, we've never been on a proper date. Like dinner and a movie…"

Natasha rolled her eyes, "You're bringing this up now?"

Clint shrugged, "If not now, then when?"

She didn't have an answer for him.

"So my question is, if we survive this, will you go on a date with me Tasha?" he asked.

Natasha rolled her eyes, refusing to allow her smile out, "Sure Barton. If we survive this I'll go on a date with you."

Clint grinned despite her patronizing tone. He'd take what he could get.

Without a conscious decision, Natasha found herself fighting to escape even harder than before. She wanted that date. She wanted a chance to have a thousand dates with Clint, to see what would happen years down the road, to really get to know the man fighting beside her and prove herself worthy of his trust. But first, they had to survive this.

Soon enough, the attack began to dwindle and Natasha turned to face Clint, "We can't stay in here forever."

Clint nodded, "No, but we have a tactical advantage from in here."

"We also have an advantage out there," Natasha argued. "They didn't leave a guard this time… And we've done serious damage in demolishing their force."

Clint considered her words before nodding slowly, "Okay, but we need to be strategic about this."

A few hurried whispers later, the assassins rose from behind the table and crept to the doorway. Natasha met Clint's gaze evenly before nodding once, twice, three times. The assassins stepped around the doorframe and began firing at the men still standing. They'd each wiped out half of the men remaining on the two sides of the hall when the return fire began.

Ducking back inside until the bullets stopped as the men realized they had just injured themselves, shooting bullets down a hallway. Then they were popping back out and finishing off the job. It was simple enough now that the men had realized they were in trouble. When the last body dropped, Clint turned to Natasha, eyes demanding if she was okay. She nodded once, asking him the same question and accepting his tight nod in response.

Clint walked towards the bodies and bent over to pick up a cell phone. He dialed Coulson's number from memory, quickly entering the code to override the security on the phone and allow his call through.

Natasha had stepped slightly back towards the conference room, surveying the bodies around her for anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied, she took a few steps towards Clint, freezing momentarily as she saw a guard force himself up, one hand holding a gun, the other clutching the bullet wound in his chest. He didn't have long, but he had long enough.

Thoughtless, reacting on instinct alone, Natasha dove forward, driving her body into Clint and bringing him to the ground as the shot rang out. The shooter collapsed, dead but smiling.

Natasha couldn't breathe. She couldn't  _breathe_. Choking on air, she pressed her hands to her stomach, just below her rib cage. Her fingers came away wet and slippery with the red blood leaking from her.

"Natasha?" Clint asked. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of blood on her fingers.

"Natasha!" his tone was more frantic this time, Natasha decided.

She tried to keep her eyes open, focused on his blue-gray eyes, but they wouldn't cooperate. She just wanted to go back to New York and have that date. She hadn't intended to get shot in the stomach before doing that…

_Why couldn't she breathe?_

Clint's calls grew louder and more desperate.

Natasha fell into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks for reading! Super sorry about that ending, let me just say we have a ways to go in this story still :) Please leave a review if you feel like it! Again, no chapter tomorrow but definitely one on Wednesday. I hope everyone is enjoying the Age of Ultron press tour like I am.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Clint shook his head, “God, Phil, I shouldn’t be mad at her. She saved my fucking life. But that’s just it, she stepped in front of a goddamn bullet for me and I don’t know why!”
> 
> “Would you have taken the bullet for her?” Phil asked quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he knew Clint needed to hear it.
> 
> “Yes.”


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Flinx8, Fury_Natalia, callista51, Accolade_Bespoke, Angie_Martinelli, and Karolina94 for commenting on chapter 25!

_Northern California—2000_

Clint was sprinting through the dark. He just needed to make it back to the tents. It wasn't that far away, only a mile or so left. But when being chased that mile seemed like far too long. He risked a glance behind him, glad to see that it appeared the road was empty. Not that that meant anything, they could just be out of sight in the shadows or have cut among the trees lining the pavement. Unwilling to risk getting caught, Clint sped up. He could just make out the lights marking the tents and trailers of Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders.

The young man pulled to sudden stop when a shadowy figure stepped out in front of him holding a large knife up menacingly, "Clint, where you going in such a hurry?"

It was Trickshot, just as Clint had feared. Heavy breaths and footsteps altered Clint to the arrival of another person behind him. Clint kept silent.

"Come on Clint, we'll cut you in," Trickshot offered. "We don't want to hurt me."

"What you're doing is wrong," Clint declared brashly. He should have just kept his mouth closed he thought.

The person behind him laughed and Clint turned to face his brother, also holding a knife, "Clint, baby bro, don't you know that nothing is just right or wrong? The world isn't black and white but I guess you've been coddled your whole life and don't know that…"

Clint didn't know how to respond. Of all people, Barney knew just what his life had been like, hell Barney had been with him the entire time.

"Clint," Trickshot called, bringing the young man's attention back to him. "Swear you won't tell anyone and we'll give you a cut. This all goes away and you can pretend like you never knew about it."

"I'm not letting you get away with it," Clint stated angrily. "You can't just steal from Mr. Carson and expect me to stand by."

Trickshot shook his head, "I was hoping you'd say something else."

Clint didn't realize that a signal had been given until he felt the knife plunge into his back. He stumbled and turned to face Barney, eyes wide with shock. His voice was thick with pain when he spoke, "Why…?"

"You've taken enough away from me, been given enough," Barney told him coldly. "I won't let you ruin this for me."

Clint's legs gave out and he found himself falling to the ground. His thoughts swirled around as he tried to work out the events of the evening. He was just trying to do the right thing and now he was laying by the side of the road with a knife in his back. Barney had betrayed him, Barney had given up on them being brothers… When had Barney started to hate him?

He allowed his mind to fall into blackness, hoping that he might not wake up because it all hurt so much. Two voices floated back to him.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here," Trickshot said.

"What about him?" Barney asked.

"He's as good as dead," Trickshot said with a nonchalant shrug. "When they find him tomorrow they'll be coming after us, so we need to go now."

"I'll meet you at the car," Barney told him.

Shoes scuffed on pavement as Barney stepped closer to the young man breathing shallowing beside him, "If you'd just gone along with it we would be okay, you wouldn't be dying. You shouldn't have tried to take away the little bit I have…"

Clint's dreams were filled with his brother and mentor's voices taunting him and reminding him of the cruelty the world is made of.

* * *

_Budapest, Hungary—2008_

"Clint, what's going on?" demanded Phil over the phone. He hadn't received a single thing from his agents for close to thirty minutes after hearing an explosions. When his phone had rung, he'd been overjoyed to hear Clint on the other end reporting a mission success. Then there had been a thud and a gunshot and suddenly Clint was yelling for Romanoff to wake up.

Clint pressed a hand against the bullet in Natasha's stomach, putting pressure on the wound to keep the blood from gushing out. With his other hand, he picked up the phone and put it on speaker. His voice was thick with panic as he spoke to Phil, "We need a med evac now!"

"What the hell happened?"

"Widow has been hit. We need a med evac. Get someone here in the next few minutes or she will die," Clint ground out, pushing down on his bleeding partner. He turned his gaze to her face, "Come on sweetheart, don't give up on me now."

"Locals will be to you in one minute," Phil informed him a second later. "I'll meet you at the hospital and have a SHIELD team clean up the building."

Clint nearly choked on the air he sucked in, he hoped the locals would be able to save her. It didn't look particularly good from where he was standing.

"Clint," Phil said before disconnecting. "She'll be okay."

The next forty-five seconds seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly for Clint while he tried to keep Natasha from bleeding out on the floor. When the paramedics arrived, they looked horrified by the scene, but went to work helping Clint with Natasha. Clint was certain they'd been told in no uncertain terms to ignore whatever was in the room and just help the two agents.

Within minutes, Natasha had been strapped to a gurney with paramedics running alongside as they wheeled it to the elevator. Clint followed behind, ignoring the glances the medics gave him (ranging from fearful to disapproving). When the reached the ambulance outside, he didn't hesitate before climbing in the back.

"No," one of the medics told him.

Clint held up his hands to the woman, "I won't get in the way but I'm not leaving her."

The woman studied him for a moment, seeming to weigh the value of his words. She nodded and the doors slammed shut. They were speeding through the city, bumping over the cobblestone streets so harshly that Clint had to grit his teeth to keep from saying something to the driver. He was sure that it couldn't be good for Natasha, but at this point speed was more important than comfort.

They pulled up in front of the hospital with sirens blaring and lights flashing. Clint was right behind them as they unloaded the gurney and rushed into the emergency room, barking orders in rapid Hungarian. He couldn't catch a word of what they were saying. He managed to stay with them through several rooms before being stopped by a burly nurse with a no nonsense attitude.

"I need to stay with her," he argued.

The nurse pointed at a chair, "No. Surgery. You stay here."

Clint debated the merits of arguing with her, then he saw the angry look on her face and decided to just sit down. He wasn't going to be able to help Natasha if she was in surgery. He'd only be in the way, he reasoned with himself.

It took six minutes of sitting alone in the waiting room for Clint to start shutting down. He needed something, some news about what was going on while he waited for Phil to show up. Natasha had gotten shot and he wasn't entirely sure how.

Phil swept into the waiting room and saw his agent sitting alone in a chair, head in his hands and eyes unfocused on the floor. The man hadn't even looked up when he walked in. Phil marched over to the woman at the desk, a formidable looking opponent, flashing his badge. They conversed quickly before Phil turned away and walked over to Clint.

"Hey," he said gently. Frowning when his agent barely glanced up. "They're going to tell us when she's out of surgery and whenever they get any information."

Clint nodded automatically.

Phil sat down next to the younger man, "What happened? Everything was fine and then it wasn't…"

Pain appeared in Clint's eyes before being pushed aside for emotionless, "Natasha had stepped away for a moment while I called you. Next thing I know, she's knocking me down and a gun went off. She collapsed then and started wheezing, she wasn't breathing Phil…"

"Who took the shot?"

Clint ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know, it was one of the guys. He was dead after he fired."

"And now Romanoff's in surgery," Phil reminded Clint. "She's going to be okay."

When the young many looked up at his friend, his anguished eyes pierced into Phil's heart.

Clint's voice was broken when he spoke, "Phil, she took a bullet for me."

Phil nodded, heart breaking a bit for his friend, "Yeah. But she'll be okay."

"You don't know that…" it was barely more than a whisper.

Phil sighed, "I believe it though. She's strong, she'll make it through. Listen Clint… I'm sorry."

Clint snorted, "I don't want a pity apology Phil, either you agree that she's worth it or you don't. Please, don't change your mind just because she's in surgery because of me."

Phil didn't know how to respond to the anger and fear bleeding through Clint's voice. He nodded once and stood up, "I'm calling Fury to update him. We need to be ready to move her as soon as we get the go ahead."

The younger man didn't respond.

Phil nodded once and walked a few steps away, giving the young man some privacy. He couldn't imagine how much it must be hurting Clint that Natasha of all people had jumped in front of a bullet for him…

"Romanoff's in surgery," Phil informed Fury, walking away from Clint, though it didn't seem like the man would react to his words.

"What happened?" Fury growled.

"They successfully retired Von Brecht at twenty-twenty-two," Phil began, knowing Fury would want the full story. "On her way out, Romanoff found documents leading her to believe they were going after the linchpin tonight. I gave her and Barton permission to follow the lead. They arrived at an office building at twenty-fifty-flour. They saw a group and entered the building with permission. During the ensuing fight, an explosion knocked out the comms.

"I organized a team in the thirty minutes with no contact from Barton and Romanoff. My phone eventually rang and Barton informed me they had been successful. All I heard from my end after that was a gunshot and a falling body. Barton started calling Romanoff's name before informing me of a need for a med evac."

"How'd they get Romanoff?" Fury asked. "They'd taken care of the threat."

"One of the guys took a shot at Barton as a last act of defiance," Phil said.

"At Barton?"

"Yes."

"Shit," Fury said. "How's he doing?"

Phil didn't answer, Fury only knew about Clint's tendency to blame himself for anything that went wrong on a mission. If the director knew that Clint was in love with Romanoff, the man would have even more reason to worry.

"That's what I figured," Fury interpreted the silence. "Listen, I'm getting reports in from the team you sent to clean up. They did a good job. Tell Barton I expect both of them back ASAP."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and Phil," Fury said before the call ended. "Keep me posted."

"Of course sir."

Phil pocketed his phone and walked back over to Clint, "We should talk."

Clint stared blankly ahead, "About what?"

"About you and Romanoff and me and everything that just happened?" Phil suggested.

Clint turned to face him slowly, "I wasn't really aware that you and I were anything beyond handler and agent at this point."

Phil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Clint, you are a brother to me. No matter what. Sometimes we'll argue and disagree but please don't ever think it means I think less of you."

"For the last year, you have thought less of me," Clint pointed out.

Phil shook his head, "I was upset and confused. I just want you to know that I'm here."

Clint nodded and resumed his staring at the doors through which Natasha had disappeared a few hours ago.

Sitting beside the nearly comatose man made anxious. He wasn't used to Clint being so withdrawn and quiet.

The nurse at the desk spoke to one who had appeared from the back before she stood and approached the two men. Her frightening expression had softened once she was away from the desk, "It's going to be a few hours before they're done."

Phil nodded when it became clear that Clint wasn't going to answer. He cleared his throat, "What's the damage?"

The nurse sighed, "What they've seen so far, it looks like it ruptured her diaphragm, nicked her liver, and just barely missed her heart."

Clint sucked in a loud breath, the only sign that he'd been listening to the conversation.

"Will she be okay?" Phil asked.

The woman shrugged, "They're doing all they can to fix the damage. She's got a team of the best in the country and they'll do everything they can to save her. At some point, it's just up to her."

"Thank you," Phil said, watching her walk away. He waited until she was behind the desk before speaking to Clint. "She's going to be okay. Romanoff's not giving up that easily."

Clint nodded mutely.

"And you need to realize that it's not your fault," Phil finished.

Clint turned to look at Phil, anger and self-loathing written in every line of his face alongside the fear coursing through his eyes, "How is it not my fault? I turned away to make the phone call, I was the one the bullet was meant for, I wasn't paying attention!"

Phil shook his head, "That's not fair to you or to Romanoff. Don't take away from her actions by saying it was up to you to stop it. She knew what she was doing when she stepped over and got you out of the way."

Clint snorted, "How happy were you when you heard it was her and not me?"

"That's not fair to me or to you," Phil said softly.

He stood up and walked away, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. Of course he wasn't happy that his agent had gotten injured. It didn't matter which one of them it was, he would still be worried and upset.

"If he'd like to clean up, I can show you to an empty room," the nurse mentioned when Phil got closer.

Phil turned around to look at Clint. He was covered in smears of blood, dirt, and ash. His hands were caked in a layer of dark red blood. He knew without a doubt that most of the blood belonged to Natasha. Slowly, Phil nodded to the nurse, "Can you show me the room? And make sure it's got a first aid kit that I can use? I know he won't accept any treatment from anyone else right now and nothing looks serious."

"Of course."

Two minutes later Phil was striding back into the waiting room and dragging Clint up by his bicep, "Come one, we need to get you cleaned up."

Clint opened his mouth to protest, "Tasha's still in there…"

Phil shook his head, "And she'll be there when you're clean. Jesus Barton, have you looked at yourself recently? You're a mess and that doesn't help anyone."

At that moment, Clint caught sight of himself in the mirror. He grimaced at the emotionless mask on his filthy face. His hands itched as he realized what was on them. Suddenly, Clint had to get himself clean.

He stumbled into the shower, stripping his uniform off as he went. The scalding water barely made an impression. Instead, Clint found himself staring at the trail of red swirling around the drain. Natasha's blood swirling down the drain. She'd lost so much blood… Why had she stepped in front of him? Why had she pushed him aside?

Rapping on the door, Phil broke Clint out of his stupor. The shower turned off and Clint stepped out. He glanced at his uniform and decided it was clean enough, so he pulled it back on. Better that than the scrubs or the gown he'd have as alternate options.

When Clint emerged from the bathroom, Phil gestured for him to sit on the bed. The fact that Clint didn't argue with the direction worried Phil. The man always argued about medical care.

"Any injuries?" Phil asked.

Clint shrugged, "A few cuts and bruises. That's it."

Phil nodded and went to work examining the gash on Clint's hairline. It looked to be the worst injury and therefore the one in need of the most attention, but examining it, Phil realized the most he could do for it was a butterfly bandage, and that wasn't even really necessary.

"Talk," Phil commanded.

Clint closed his eyes, not wanting to speak because once he started he wasn't sure he'd stop.

"I know you're mad at me and at yourself and a little bit at Romanoff," Phil continued. "So let's hear it so I can tell you why you're wrong. Though I suppose you'll still need to talk to Romanoff before you really believe it."

"You're supposed to trust me…" Clint finally said. He chose to start with the easiest topic of the three. "You're supposed to trust me as much as I trust you and instead you doubt my every decision and refuse to believe me even after you see the evidence in front of you. Natasha deserved a second chance even more than I did, she never chose that life, and she has done everything she can to use that second chance wisely."

Phil nodded when Clint stopped for a breath, "You're right and I'm sorry."

"No," Clint snapped. "You don't get to apologize right now. Did you ever bother to try to get to know her? Did you even try to see the good in her? Did you think for even a moment that you should just give her—if not me—the benefit of the doubt?"

Phil shook his head, slightly shamed. Everything Clint said was right, and during the thirty minutes of radio silence, Phil had realized just how wrong he was. But he didn't have the right to speak at the moment.

"You were so worried about her hurting me that you never realized you were hurting me! And you were hurting her too. What she needs most is people to believe in her and tell her she's going to do the right thing, that she has a chance to be better."

"I am sorry," Phil said when he realized Clint was waiting for a response. "I won't tell you that isn't true, because it all is. Just know, it was never a conscious decision, and I promise from here on out to do everything in my power to fix things. You mean the world to me Clint, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I don't care."

Clint blew out a breath of air and nodded, "Okay."

"Should we talk about how you're mad at Romanoff?" Phil offered after a moment of silence.

Clint shook his head, "God, Phil, I shouldn't be mad at her. She saved my fucking life. But that's just it, she stepped in front of a goddamn bullet for me and I don't know why!"

"Would you have taken the bullet for her?" Phil asked quietly. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he knew Clint needed to hear it.

"Yes."

Phil nodded, "Why?"

"Because I love her."

"There's your reason."

Clint snorted, "She doesn't love me Phil. She cares about me, but it isn't love. I'm not sure she'll ever be able to love me, not after what those sick fucks did to her…"

"I'm sure she'll sort through it soon enough," Phil said running through what he knew of Romanoff's time with the Red Room.

Clint shook his head, "Phil, you don't know the half of it. They didn't just turn her into an assassin. They beat, tortured, and raped her on a daily basis. She hasn't had a healthy relationship since she was six."

"Oh," Phil said in shock. He hadn't really given it much thought, but it made sense that Romanoff hadn't told them anything and of course they raped her. He had really screwed up.

"So I don't know why she stepped in front of it, but I'm worried that it's because she thinks she owes me for bringing her into SHIELD."

"She can't really think that?"

Clint shrugged, "She did when I first brought her in. Offered to sleep with me in order to repay the debt."

"You didn't, right?"

"No, I pushed her away and told her all I asked was for her to do was her best," Clint said with an eye roll.

Phil nodded, "And a year later you are sleeping together."

"Which wouldn't be happening if I thought for even a moment she was doing it as a way to repay me," Clint stated with a warning look. "And for the record, she has suggested ending things multiple times because she knows it was hurting my relationship with you."

Phil filed that information away for a later time, for now he needed to focus on the issue at hand, "I don't think she feels the need to repay you. If she does, that's not what prompted her to do what she did today. But nothing I say is going to help here, you need to talk to her once she's out of surgery and awake."

Clint nodded.

"None of this is your fault," Phil said with conviction.

"You're wrong."

"I know you aren't going to believe me, but it's not your fault. You are a good person, you didn't ask her to do it and you did everything you were supposed to do for an op like this. Natasha made her choice, so don't dishonor it."

Clint remained silent before a half smile graced his face, "You called her Natasha."

Phil rolled his eyes, relieved that Clint seemed to have come back to himself somewhat, "Yeah, it was weird and probably won't happen again anytime soon. Now let's go see if there's been any news."

He led the way out of the room and back to the nurse's desk, Clint half a step behind.

* * *

Natasha felt herself start to surface from unconsciousness. A part of her wanted to remaining the comforting warmth because she had a feeling she wasn't going to like what waited her when she woke up. She couldn't remember why, but for some reason, Natasha had a feeling she was in trouble.

The sedatives wearing off pulled her out of her sleep though, bringing her mind out of the sluggishness slightly. She remembered a gun aimed at Clint and the gun going off. Panic invaded her thoughts, was he okay? She forced her eyes open and blinked hard against the bright lights that invaded her vision.

Hospital, her brain told her, identifying the sounds and smells finally.

Right, she'd been shot, hadn't she?

But what about Clint? Was he okay? He'd been yelling her name…

She tried opening her eyes again, this time prepared for the light.

"She's waking up," someone said. She knew the voice but couldn't place it. Dang, she must be on some good sedatives if her mind was still so slow.

"Hey, Tasha," another voice said before someone leaned into her range of vision.

_Clint._

She frowned at the sight of a bandage on his head. He couldn't be too hurt though, he was standing up.

Clint read Natasha's frown and tried to smile at her, "I'm fine, no thanks to you trying to stress me into an early grave."

Natasha tried to talk but no words came out. It was difficult to breath. She allowed her helplessness to bleed into her eyes, hoping Clint would understand.

A look of complete tenderness crossed the man's face and he smoothed his thumb across her hairline, "You got shot sweetheart. You need to go back to sleep, but I'll be here when you wake up. You're going to be okay."

Clint glanced once towards Phil, noticing how the man seemed to be studiously studying the wall, trying to give the assassins some privacy. He pressed a gentle kiss to Natasha's lips and smiled at her, "Go back to sleep."

Natasha didn't want to sleep, not until she was sure he was completely okay, but the medications were already dragging her back under. Maybe she should do what he said.

_Coulson's with him_ , her mind whispered.

Right, Coulson, that's who the first voice was.

Natasha's eyes slipped shut and she was swallowed back into unconsciousness.

Clint sat back with a sigh, holding Natasha's hand in his. He didn't think she'd even realized it when she'd reached out and grabbed him. At least she was sleeping again. He truly believed she'd be okay now, he'd seen her beautiful green eyes open.

Phil cleared his throat awkwardly and studied the two agents in front of him. Clint really did love that woman. And she'd looked worried when she saw him, at least until Clint had reassured her. Maybe she cared for him, she'd taken a bullet for him after all and you don't do that for no reason.

"Sweetheart?" Phil asked with a smirk, he could recognize when Clint's Midwestern roots were reappearing.

Clint shrugged, smiling faintly, "She hasn't killed me for it yet."

Phil shrugged, "I'm surprised she lets you call her anything other than Natasha let alone a pet name. Do you feel better now?"

Clint nodded, "I won't believe things will be okay until she's awake for good, but at least she's woken up from the surgery."

Phil stepped towards the door. "I need to go coordinate the move from here to a secure facility. I'll be back soon."

Clint didn't say anything, just watched the woman in the bed, thumb absentmindedly rubbing her hand.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, Krakow—2008_

Natasha was far more lucid the second time she woke up. She knew she was in a hospital bed, that it was different than the first time she woke up, and that there was someone else in the room with her. The person was holding her hand and leaning against her bed. Only one person had the audacity and the ability to do those things. Opening her eyes, Natasha saw none other than Clint sitting next to her bed, head fallen forward onto the mattress and fingers entwined with hers.

Extracting her hand, Natasha brushed her fingers against the bandage on Clint's head. She remembered seeing it when she first woke up. It didn't look like anything serious now, but then it had been proof that she hadn't protected him as well as she was supposed to.

Clint woke up at her touch. He smiled tiredly at her, "Welcome back."

"How long?" she croaked before gesturing for him to hand her the cup of water next to the bed.

Clint held the water to her lips, helping her lift her head as she drank. He answered once she'd finished drinking, "Two and a half days. We're at the SHIELD base in Krakow. The doctors kept you sedated an extra day just to make sure you got as much rest as possible."

"What happened?" she demanded, acknowledging that the dull throb in her abdomen meant she probably didn't want to move.

"You don't remember?" Clint asked, panic tinging his voice.

Natasha rolled her eyes, "I remember the fight, you idiot, and getting you out of the way. I mean what happened after I passed out."

"Phil got paramedics to us a minute later and they managed to get you stabilized. You lost a lot of blood and we ended up at a hospital. Turns out that bullet ruptured your diaphragm, nicked your liver, and almost hit your heart. There was a lot of internal damage they had to patch up," Clint told her. His eyes hardened with each word.

Natasha glanced away from him, "You're mad at me."

Clint took a deep breath to keep himself calm, "Yes. Why on earth would you do that?"

"Are you saying you wouldn't do the same thing for me?" Natasha shot back, voice full of hostility.

Clint sighed, "Of course I would."

"Then why are you mad."

"Because I need to know why you decided endangering your life was a good idea."

Natasha glared at him, "I didn't do it because I thought it would be fun."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" Natasha said, sticking her chin out mulishly. She wanted to know what he was thinking that made him mad.

"Because you have this horrible idea that you somehow owe me," Clint finally said, studying her face. He hadn't wanted to say it, but he needed to know and she wasn't being forthcoming.

"Then that must be it," Natasha said snidely, turning and looking away.

Clint sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He should have known better than to say anything to her. Now she was the one who was mad and understandably so.

"Is that really what you think of me?" she asked quietly.

Clint shook his head, "No. It's what I am terrified of. I don't want to be a debt to you and I couldn't begin to understand why you would step in front of a bullet for me… God dammit, I know it wasn't for love."

Hurt flashed across Natasha's face for a moment before Clint spoke again.

"Tasha, I know you don't love me. You can't love, it scares you and you think it makes you weak. With the way you grew up, it's not that surprising." Clint continued. "I know that and it's okay, I just want to understand why you'd take a bullet for me."

The room was silent for a few moments while Natasha studied the wall. Finally she spoke, "Because in the moment I saw that guy pointing a gun at you, I knew that I didn't want to be in a world where you didn't exist anymore. I didn't want to be alone again."

Her voice was thick with emotion when she finished.

Clint stepped back towards the bed and touched her shoulder. Natasha turned to face him, trying to mask the emotions playing across her face but failing.

"And you think I'd be okay without you?"

Natasha shrugged, "You have other people you care about, who care about you. You'd be okay."

Clint shook his head, "Don't think for a moment that I'd be okay without you, especially if it was because you sacrificed yourself for me. I love you Tasha, I don't want to spend an hour away from you let alone the rest of my life!"

The assassins sat in silence for a few minutes before Clint spoke again, "I want to ask you not to do something like this ever again."

Natasha shook her head, "I won't make that promise."

Clint nodded, "That's what I figured…"

"Are we okay?" Natasha asked, tired already.

Clint nodded once again and kissed her hand, "Yes, though I still don't think you should ever step in front of a bullet for me. You are worth more than I am."

Natasha shook her head, "You're wrong, but I think we'll have to agree to disagree here."

"I should get the doctor," Clint told her after a moment.

Natasha didn't protest as he stood to leave. She spoke when he was at the door, "Hey Clint, you still owe me a date."

Clint grinned and nodded, "Of course, though maybe we should wait until you're out of the hospital…"

Natasha shrugged, "It'd make a good story: Hawkeye breaks Black Widow out of the infirmary to take her on a date."

With a chuckle, Clint left and headed out to find the doctor. As soon as Natasha was cleared he wanted to be headed back to New York. Like she said, he owed her a date.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

"What happened?" Fury inquired of Phil as the younger man stood in his office.

"You've read the report sir," Phil replied, gesturing to the open file sitting on the man's desk.

Fury's lips curled, "Yes I've read the file and I understand the facts, but I want to know your take on it. Something like this says a lot about a partnership and can actually damage that partnership."

Phil took a deep breath, ready to lie through his teeth to protect his agents. At this point, he did believe that they were not making a horrible mistake in entering a romantic relationship. It didn't seem like Romanoff was out to get Clint, though he planned to speak with her at the next chance he got.

"Phil," Fury said starting to get impatient. "You want to tell me why the Black Widow of all people stepped in front of a bullet for someone else."

"I misjudged her," Phil admitted. He didn't have to lie too much about this, mostly just omit some things. "It seems she actually values people other than herself and somehow Barton managed to get to her. You know he has a way with people. I just thought that the Black Widow wouldn't end up becoming one of his best friends."

Fury nodded, "I'm glad someone got through to her. Phil, I don't think you saw it when he brought her in because you were so damn worried about Barton, but it was clear she hadn't had anyone caring about her in a long time without it being twisted. She was a tortured nineteen-year-old who seemed willing to do anything for a second chance. I didn't believe she was sincere at first, but I was wrong."

"As I said, I misjudged her and for that I owe her an apology," Phil replied. "You're right, I didn't see that. But some things have been pointed out to me recently and I realized that it's amazing she's where she is now."

"I take it Barton told you some details she hadn't shared with us?"

Phil nodded, "He did, and I don't feel like it's my place to reveal them to you now."

"Good," Fury said. "I don't want either of them thinking you're going to tell their secrets. Just let me know if something comes up that you think we need to know about. I can fill in the blanks enough to have a sense of what they did to her. She's learned to cope with it and if confiding in Barton helps, than I'll take it."

"Yes, sir."

"Phil, I have to ask because the Council is going to want to know, are they compromised?"

"No," Phil said confidently. "Barton and Romanoff make a wonderful team and do nothing but compliment each other's skills. You don't need to worry about their professionalism."

Fury nodded, "Thank you, you're dismissed."

Phil nodded once in Fury's direction before striding out of the office. He needed to have a conversation with none other than Natasha Romanoff, and hopefully she was feeling talkative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates should be regular for the foreseeable future :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Natasha was walking down the hall on her way to the garage when she ran into Phil. He reached out a hand to stop her from passing with no more than a nod, “Can I talk with you?”
> 
> She hesitated for only a moment before nodding and following him to his office.
> 
> “What’s this about?” she asked after a few awkward moments. She was hoping it was just about the mission to Budapest, not anything to do with her relationship with Clint.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.
> 
> Thank you to BlackHawksChild, Karolina94, Rachel <3, and Flinx8 for commenting on the last chapter.

_Naples, Florida—2000_

Clint wiped his hands on his pants, hoping to remove the slight sheen of sweat clinging to them. He took a deep breath and knocked on the trailer door. It was going to be fine.

A girl, only a couple of years older than Clint, answered. She had her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail with hair tie that matched the aqua colored blouse she wore. Her blue eyes shone, stealing Clint's breath.

"Hi, Alisha," he managed to say after a minute.

"Hi, Clint!" she chirped, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind her. "So what are we doing tonight?"

"Um, well, I thought we could go see a movie and maybe get some ice cream after."

Alisha nodded enthusiastically and grabbed Clint's hand as they walked away. He was glad he'd just wiped off his palms, hopefully he wouldn't start sweating again and give away how nervous he really was. Alisha was the prettiest girl at the circus and she was a contortionist. Clint knew that every teenage boy, and some of the men too, dreamed about her. It had taken weeks before he'd saved enough money to afford taking her out and several more days to work up the nerve to ask her. He'd been shocked when she'd agreed and even seemed excited about it.

The pair walked through the quiet streets, heading towards the dollar-theater Clint had looked up the moment they'd arrived in Naples. After a couple minutes of silence, Clint found himself searching for something to say. "You look great!" he blurted.

Alisha blushed, "Thank you. You clean up well too."

An awkward pause followed. "Do you like Florida?"

"It's nice, but I can't really enjoy the beaches since I don't know how to swim," Alisha said.

An idea occurred to Clint, "I could teach you if you wanted to learn."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, if you want."

Alisha beamed at him, "I'd love that!"

They're conversation lapsed as they reached the theater. It took only a moment to decide what they were going to watch and then they were inside. Clint payed for two drinks and led the way into the theater. He couldn't focus on the movie, distracted by the girl next to him. She'd lifted the arm rest up between them and was sitting close enough that their legs touched. Clint faked a yawn and stretched, putting his arm around her shoulders. He relaxed when she moved closer instead of pulling away.

When the movie ended, Alisha pulled Clint to his feet and practically dragged him outside. "You promised me ice cream!"

He nodded and followed her down the street to an ice cream parlor with a decent crowd. The spring air was warm, but not unpleasant.

"Let's walk down by the water," he suggested as they exited the store, ice cream cones in hand. Alisha babbled about the movie to him as they meandered across the sand, staying just out of the reach of the waves.

"The sunset is so pretty!" Alisha gasped, looking out over the water and coming to a stop.

Clint stopped next to her. He looked at the girl standing next to him and nodded, "Yeah, really pretty."

Acting on impulse, Clint leaned over and kissed Alisha. She responded almost immediately, pulling him closer. After a few minutes she pulled away and gave him a mischievous smile. A moment later, she was dragging Clint away from the water and towards a stand of trees. Clint followed eagerly. His jaw dropped when she stopped beneath the trees and pulled her shirt off. Alisha wiggled a finger at him in invitation.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

Natasha had finally been released from the SHIELD infirmary. It had been two long weeks of bed rest broken by only short walks (all supervised by Sanders). She was feeling much better now and had insisted on Clint meeting her in the garage, just so she had a few minutes of time to herself. As much as Natasha enjoyed that he cared about her, the man could be downright clingy.

She had stopped by her room and then her locker, searching for something that she could bring to Clint's apartment that would work as an outfit for the date he was taking her on that night. She'd gone with jeans and a soft, black sweater. She was still healing and didn't feel like wearing a nice dress or anything fancy. Clint had seen her at her worst, so jeans and a sweater was more than enough. She also didn't know what he had planned, so versatile was better than nothing.

Natasha was walking down the hall on her way to the garage when she ran into Phil. He reached out a hand to stop her from passing with no more than a nod, "Can I talk with you?"

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding and following him to his office.

"What's this about?" she asked after a few awkward moments. She was hoping it was just about the mission to Budapest, not anything to do with her relationship with Clint.

Phil sighed and began speaking, "First, I'd like to apologize to you. I misjudged you from the start and never gave you a chance to prove me wrong. I am sorry."

Natasha was taken aback by his words, it was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"You have proven to be a competent agent and a good partner to Clint," he continued. "So thank you for that and for putting up with all the shit I've given you. Once again, I apologize and I'd like a chance to get to know you better."

"Okay," Natasha said.

"Okay?" Phil asked in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be that easy.

She shrugged, "Yeah, I understand why you didn't want to trust me and I appreciate what you're trying to do here. I won't tell you that I'm suddenly going to start spilling every secret. I just want to know why. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Phil sighed again, "I realized that I was wrong. And I won't lie, part of it had to do with you taking a bullet for Clint. The fact that when you woke up, your first concern was him didn't hurt either. You do care about him, whether you want to admit it or not."

"He's important to me," Natasha said. "He's important to a lot of people."

Phil hesitated before speaking again, "Which brings me to my second reason for wanting to talk to you."

"My relationship with Barton?" Natasha guessed.

Phil nodded.

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't think you realize how much he cares about you," Phil stated with a challenging look. When she didn't respond he continued, "He would do anything for you, and that worries me enough before I even start thinking about your reputation as the Black Widow."

"What makes you think I don't know?"

"He loves you," Phil said, watching her carefully.

"I know," Natasha replied simply. "He's told me."

"But he doesn't think you love him back now, let alone that you'll love him at a later point."

Natasha chose her words with care as she spoke, "I was raised to see any type of emotion as a weakness, the worst of them being love. To me, love is for children and I am not a child. He may be right, I may never be able to love him. I won't lie about it and I won't lie to him just to make him feel better."

"I want you to promise you won't hurt him," Phil blurted, desperation in his eyes. That's what worried him most about this whole thing, that Clint would end up broken and abandoned.

Natasha's lips curled into a wry smile, "I can't make that promise. Know this, I have absolutely no intention of ever hurting him, but there is every chance I will do so. Will my promise to not intentionally hurt him be enough?"

Phil pondered her words for a moment before nodding.

"Then you have it. Please don't doubt that I genuinely care about Clint. I want whatever this is between us to work."

Phil nodded, "Okay. Thank you. Just know that I will do everything in my power to see you go down should you break that promise."

Natasha stood there for a moment before speaking, "Is there anything else?"

Phil shook his head, "No, you're free. Enjoy your date."

Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow at his last words.

The man shrugged, "Clint's excited and told me."

"Of course," she said with a fond smile tugging at her lips, turning and leaving the office to finally meet Clint.

Natasha made sure to keep her expression emotionless as she walked through the halls, it wouldn't do for anyone to see her smiling, they would wonder why and begin to think she was capable of happiness. Natasha also didn't want to tip anyone off to her relationship with Clint. There was every chance that they could end up fired and that was the last thing she wanted. Her conversation with Phil had made her feel a little bit better about everything.

He wasn't outright against her anymore. He'd actually apologized and seemed sincere with it about his treatment of her since Clint brought her in. And he had pretty much given his blessing to continue being more than partners. That was a relief to Natasha for two reasons, the selfish one being that she didn't have to worry about getting fired (and probably killed) because he ratted them out, the other reason being that now Clint wouldn't have his friendship strained with Coulson because of her.

She stepped into the garage and headed over to where Clint was standing next to his car. He smiled when he caught sight of her, "What took you so long?"

Natasha shrugged and opened the passenger door, "Coulson wanted to talk to me."

Clint slid into the driver's seat and turned to face her, "About what?"

Fastening her seatbelt, Natasha didn't bother looking at her partner as she replied blandly, "Not much."

Clint started the car and rolled his eyes. The tires squealed as they sped out of the garage. He managed to keep quiet until they were a few minutes out from SHIELD, "He didn't do anything to upset you, right?"

Shaking her head, Natasha entwined her fingers with Clint's between their seats, "He apologized and asked me to make him a promise."

"Good," Clint said, lifting their hands and pressing his lips against hers. She was rarely the one who initiated contact, it was nice. "What was the promise?"

Natasha smirked, "That I not break your heart."

"He actually asked you that?" Clint half-groaned. "Does he realize I'm an adult?"

"It wasn't those exact words, but same intention. Anyway, he wasn't sure that I realized the extent of your affection for me."

Clint shook his head, "Ridiculous. You know, you didn't have to promise him anything…"

Natasha shrugged, "I had no problem with it. I won't, at least not intentionally…"

Her quiet words had warmth settling into Clint's heart. Though he knew she wasn't as emotionally attached as he was, it told him she was going to put everything she could into this. And he appreciated that, "You know I won't hurt you either, not intentionally anyway."

"I know," Natasha replied softly. "So what exactly are we doing tonight?"

Clint grinned, "Dinner and a movie, classic date. If we have a real good time, we may even kiss before parting ways."

Clint parked his car near his apartment and Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"We can walk there," Clint answered. "If you're up to it, we can also walk to the theater, but I can drive too."

"I'm good," Natasha told him, excited for a little bit of exercise outside of SHIELD halls. The brisk autumn air filled her lungs and she could feel the chill seeping into her. Before walking away from the car, she pulled out her jacket and shrugged it on.

When Clint held out his hand to her, she took it willingly. They left the parking area and headed out onto the street. Natasha stood close to Clint, enjoying his solid presence beside her and the fact that they didn't have to be anyone but themselves at the moment.

"This is the best Italian restaurant in the city," Clint told her as they stopped in front of a relatively fancy hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

"I'm underdressed," Natasha glared at him.

Clint chuckled, "It looks nice from the outside, but is actually pretty casual. You look great."

Natasha rolled her eyes but followed him inside. The hostess beamed at him, "Hi Clint! Table for two, right?"

Clint nodded, "Yes please, Gio."

The girl happily led them to a table and Natasha began to relax as she realized that Clint's assessment was right, the clientele were dressed relatively casually. With a glance at the menu, Natasha watched as the girl headed back to her position, sending a backward look at Clint.

Natasha arched an eyebrow at her date.

"She's sweet. I think she's sixteen now, but yeah, she's not subtle. Gio's the owners' daughter."

"You come here often?"

Clint chuckled at her unintended pick up line, "Often enough that the owners know who I am and like to help me out. Florence thinks I need to eat more."

Natasha nodded and turned to the menu, "Any recommendations?"

Clint grinned, "Everything. It just depends on what you feel like. If you want, we can get a couple things and share?"

"Works for me. Order what you think is best."

An older man walked up to the table and smiled at the couple, "Ah, Clint, I see you've finally brought a lady in."

"Hello Georgio," Clint said. "How's Florence?"

"She's wonderful. Actually, she is visiting our family in Italy right now. She'll be back in a few days but I'll make sure she knows you stopped by," the man replied. "So what will it be tonight?"

Clint studied the menu before ordering an appetizer of garlic bread, two different pasta dishes, and a bottle of whatever wine Georgio recommended.

The man nodded, satisfied and walked away.

"Georgio gets upset if you try to order wine here," Clint explained to Natasha. "He knows what goes best with everything and brings it regardless of what you order."

Natasha smiled, "That's not a bad thing, I've been to far too many places where the dinner guests ordered the worst wine to go with their meal…"

"I think Georgio would have happily murdered them all for you," Clint said.

The wine was delivered along with a pitcher of water by a young waiter. He hurried away, promising their appetizer would arrive soon.

"Is Italian food your favorite?" Natasha asked once the bread appeared on their table.

"No, why do you think it is?" Clint replied, grabbing a piece of bread. He took a bite and hummed in satisfaction.

"Because most of what I see you eat is pizza and pasta."

Clint paused his chewing for a moment as he considered her words, "You know, I think you may be right about that begin the majority of what I eat… But I'm a sucker for good BBQ."

Natasha shrugged, "Never had it."

Clint's jaw dropped, "Seriously? How can you not have eaten barbecue before? Nothing?"

She shook her head, "I hate to break it to you, but outside of the US barbecue isn't really a thing. I've never had an opportunity or a desire to try it."

"This summer we're doing a cook out," Clint informed her. "We'll take a few days off and head out to the property I own in Iowa. We'll have a good old fashioned American summer complete with barbecue, corn on the cob, and apple pie."

"Sure," Natasha said.

"What's your favorite kind of food?" Clint asked.

Natasha shrugged, "I don't know. I like Russian food, but I'm sure that's because I grew up eating that. I also enjoy spicy things."

"So Italian food wasn't the best choice?"

Natasha laughed and shook her head, "I enjoy Italian food, I'm not exactly picky. Anyway, this place is nice."

"I'm glad you like it," Clint told her.

"Tell me about how you met Coulson," Natasha demanded. She'd never heard the story.

Clint grabbed another piece of bread, "Of course you'd ask to hear about that…"

"Not a good story?"

"No, it's a great story. It's just not a great image of me."

"That just makes me more curious," Natasha told him.

Clint sighed, "Fine. But don't judge me too hard when you hear it."

Natasha nodded and settled back into her seat, nibbling on a piece of bread and sipping at her wine.

"It was in 2003," Clint began. "I'd broken out of military prison the year before and had spent a year as a contract assassin. I working a job in India to take out a doctor that was helping the poor. My employer wasn't a fan of that, and in my defense, I didn't know  _why_  the guy was being targeted."

"You're not alone in having targeted good people," Natasha muttered.

Clint nodded, he knew that and had started to come to terms with it thanks to Phil, "Anyway, I was hiding out in a hotel the night before I would make the hit when several dozen police show up. They knocked down my door and had the building completely surrounded. I went with them easily enough, and then spent close to two hours being ruffed up in a cell.

"Then the weirdest thing happens, and I thought I was dreaming. This American in a suit walks into the room and gets all of the police out with a glance. I figured it was an unhappy client or someone pissed about one of my hits. He just stood there looking at me for a longtime, so I finally told him to take a picture because it would last longer.

"That's when he finally spoke. He said 'Clint Barton, I've been looking for you.' I remember it exactly because it was the first time someone had called me by my real name since I had left the States and started going by Hawkeye only. I was panicking at that point because I'd never been caught while on a job and now I've got this American who knows who I was. I thought I was going to be killed or at least imprisoned."

"I take it that isn't what happened?" Natasha asked.

Clint shook his head, "No, he looks at me and goes 'My name is Agent Phil Coulson and I'm here to offer you a job with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.' Now keep in mind, I had a concussion thanks to the beating I'd taken and pretty I got Phil Coulson, job, blah blah blah. I looked up at him and said 'I'm not sure where you offered me a job but I've already got one.'

"Then he laughed at me and told me it looked like my job wasn't going so well at the moment. Turns out, he was the one who told the police where I'd be and that they should apprehend me. The beating wasn't part of the plan. Anyway, it takes him several minutes to convince me he was serious and once I'd agreed to come work for SHIELD, he released me from the chains."

Their food arrived and the two assassins dug in with gusto. Natasha had a plate of mushroom ravioli in front of her while Clint was working on a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. He held up a forkful of noodles to her, "I'll trade you a bite for a bite?"

Natasha gladly tried the food he offered and offered him her plate to take as much as he wanted. It was absolutely delicious. After swallowing, Natasha spoke, "That's not a bad image of you."

"I'm not done," Clint told her with a grin. "So Coulson's standing there, he releases me from the chains, and then I made a break for the door."

Natasha laughed at the image, "I'm sure that went well."

"He had me flat on the ground within a second," Clint told her sheepishly. "Of course, that didn't stop me. I jumped up and tried again, only to be put down once more. Then he got me on the ground a third time when he told me to just stay down. I was exhausted and could tell that a fourth try wouldn't go any differently and might actually lose me the job. So there I am, lyying on the floor of this Indian jail cell and I look up and ask if he was serious about the job.

"Coulson just smirked at me and said he was. He then pulled me up, dragged me out of that prison and back to the hotel room to gather my stuff. Within an hour, we were on a plane back to the US and he's handing me a file about the doctor I had been planning to kill."

Natasha smiled when he finished speaking, "Sounds like a decent start. Your stubbornness was clear to Coulson and then he made you feel guilty."

"Pretty much," Clint agreed. "It was certainly the start of quite a challenge for him. I didn't exactly make it easy for him to train me and get me into SHIELD. It took several months before things started to change and I realized he was sticking around it was permanent. That's the first time I felt that way since I was a kid…"

Natasha nodded, throat tight. She wondered if he realized that he was that person for her. She still had doubts, but they were more about her herself than about Clint.

They finished eating in companionable silence. Clint checked his watch, "We've got a little while before the movie, do you want dessert?"

Natasha shrugged, "I wouldn't say no…"

Clint thought for a moment, "I'm thinking that maybe we pass up on dessert here and instead get junk food at the theater."

"Works for me," Natasha said. "We'll have to come back and get it another day."

Clint waved for the waiter to come over and asked for the check. They were soon departing from the restaurant and back outside.

"Are you okay to walk?" Clint asked Natasha once they were outside.

"I'm good. And I need to work off some of what I just ate," she said easily enough.

"Okay, I just don't want you to overdo it. Sanders said you still need to be relaxing."

Natasha gave him a warning look, "It's a walk, not anything strenuous."

Clint held up his hands in surrender, "Let's go then."

"Christmas decorations will be going up soon, won't they?" Natasha said as they wandered.

Clint nodded, "Yes they will, and with any luck, we'll be here for Christmas again. Though I doubt it… We've had pretty terrible luck this year…"

"It would be nice to see," Natasha admitted. "Are you force feeding Coulson and I for Thanksgiving this year?"

Clint shrugged with a grin, "Only if I have to. You have to admit, it's good food and it's fun!"

"I admit nothing."

Clint chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to him, "I know the truth."

"What movie are we seeing?" she asked.

"It's a comedy spy movie called  _Get Smart_ ," Clint told her. "If you hate it we can always skip out early."

Natasha smirked at him, "And just what would we do if we left early?"

Clint shrugged, "I'll leave that up to you, but if you want suggestions I've got a few."

* * *

Clint smiled at Natasha as they walked out of the theater, "Well if we're doing this whole regular date thing, then this is when I walk you home."

"And that's when I kiss you goodbye and don't let you in, right?" Natasha teased.

Clint nodded, "Exactly. I wouldn't be opposed to not following that plan though…"

"Clint Barton, are you asking me to come back to your apartment and fuck you?" Natasha asked with a mocking smirk.

Clint shrugged with an amused twinkle in his eyes, "If you're offering."

"Come on," Natasha told him, rolling her eyes at him.

Clint placed his arm around her shoulders and steered her towards his apartment. When he passed the turn they would take to get to her place, he relaxed a bit. She was actually going to come home with him, it didn't matter to him if they slept together, only that she wanted to spend more time with him.

Once in his building, Clint headed over to the elevator, not wanting to make Natasha climb all of the stairs with her injury. She hadn't complained once during all the walking, but he knew her breathing couldn't be painless at this point. He'd been with her through most of Sanders' examinations and had heard the same warnings she had.

Inside the elevator, Clint stepped away from her and pushed the button for his floor. Suddenly, Natasha had pressed herself against him and dragged his head closer to hers. She kissed him passionately, making him gasp. With no warning, Natasha wrapped her legs around his waist and Clint found himself stumbling at the sudden weight. He pressed her against the wall of the elevator, hoping he wouldn't have to think about keeping them upright and could instead focus on the woman in front of him. She was pressing herself against him, grinding her hips against his, scraping her fingers against the back of his head and neck.

They barely noticed the elevator doors opening, but Clint managed to pull back and carry her out of the elevator. Natasha pouted when he pulled away, setting her feet on the ground once they were in the hall.

Clint chuckled at her expression, "You're the one who started in an elevator, we'd have to get out eventually."

"Doesn't mean I can't be mad at you for stopping," Natasha told him with a pout.

Clint pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear, voice low and gruff, "Sweetheart, I have absolutely no intention of stopping anytime soon."

They stepped into his apartment and Natasha found herself pressed against the door, Clint's muscled form keeping her trapped. A shiver ran through her when she saw the lust in his eyes. A sigh escaped her when his lips crashed against hers, tongue and teeth pulling at her bottom lip, hands holding her hips still as she tried to grind against him.

Clint's hands drifted from her hips to the button of her jeans. He flipped it open and pulled down the zipper. Then a finger was sliding under the waistband of her underwear and teasing around her clit. Natasha whimpered as she reached for his hand, not wanting him to tease.

Trapping her small wrists with one of his, Clint held her arms above her head and grazed his teeth against her earlobe, "Nuh uh darling."

Natasha's eyes were wide and her breathing shallow as his words sent a flare of arousal humming through her body. She had never enjoyed being dominated before.

Clint took his hand out of her pants and ran it under her sweater, tracing the plane of her stomach and the skin just below her bra. His archery-roughened fingers provided the perfect pressure on her skin.

Frustrated, Natasha tried to get her legs wrapped around him again. When he stepped back in response she huffed in annoyance.

"Problem?" Clint asked with a mocking grin.

Natasha glared at him before deciding she wanted him more than she valued her pride at the moment, "I want you to fuck me, now."

Clint's eyes darkened at her words and he manhandled her away from the door and into the bedroom, efficiently stripping her sweater off and kicking off his shoes. Once Natasha was lying on the bed he went to work divesting himself of his shirt.

Natasha peeled off her jeans and laid in front of him in nothing but her underwear.

"That for me?" Clint asked hoarsely as he took in the lacy purple bra and matching panties she was wearing.

Natasha just smirked at him, glad she'd remembered she owned the set for tonight.

Clint kissed her roughly, mumbling against her lips, "I love you."

Natasha's head fell back as he moved to suck on her neck, focusing on the spot between her neck and earlobe. Her moans filled the room and Clint smirked as he dragged his teeth across her neck. He would never tire of hearing her moan like that.

Lifting herself up, Natasha unhooked her bra and pulled it off, chest heaving as she was freed of the confining material. Clint moved his attention from her neck down to her breasts. He bit gently at one nipple, rolling the other between his fingers. When his teeth grazed the taunt peak, Natasha tugged on his hair, gasping in pleasure.

"Barton," she growled.

Clint heard the warning in her voice and sat back in order to kick off his pants and boxers. Natasha slid her underwear down her legs and leaned back on her elbows, watching Clint with unconcealed want. Her eyes drifted down his muscled chest to the trail of hair running from his belly button. His cock stood thick and hard against his stomach. Natasha found herself wanting to run her tongue across it. She'd never had any desire to suck a cock before, but Clint's was gorgeous.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as she watched a bead of liquid well up from the tip.

Clint climbed back onto the bed and lined himself up at her entrance. He brushed the head of his cock against her clit, enjoying the way it made her writhe beneath him.

Clint pushed into her slowly, taking each inch as her channel relaxed and took him. She was so tight around him that he felt like his dick was being sealed inside of her. Natasha shifted beneath him, wrapping her legs around and placing her heels on his calves. The movement made her muscles clench around him and Clint had to start thinking about baseball stats to keep from orgasming already.

He pulled himself out of her just as slowly as he'd entered before slamming back into her. Clint was soon panting as he drove himself into Natasha as hard as he could. Her cries and wide eyes urging him on.

Natasha could feel her orgasm pressing against her, coiled tight in her stomach. She pushed herself upright, worrying Clint's neck with her teeth as he continued to pound into her. As the waves of pleasure broke, she bit down on his shoulder to muffle her cries.

Clint groaned as her teeth sank into his shoulder while her walls tightened around him. He stayed as still as he could while the tremors passed through her body. When he felt her relax against him, he went back to moving. Driving himself into her relentlessly.

Natasha could only gasp as Clint resumed fucking her, his fast pace bringing her to the edge of another orgasm. She clenched around him on purpose, enjoying the way his face went slack and his thrusts stuttered.

Clint's movement became erratic as Natasha clenched her pussy around him rhythmically. He knew she wasn't coming again, but couldn't stave off his own orgasm any longer. He stilled as his cock pulsed inside of her and spilled his load inside her warmth. He groaned as he came, "Tasha."

Natasha felt herself coming again as Clint came inside of her. His voice breaking through her body and sending pleasure through her again. She found herself babbling in Russian, not even knowing what she said.

As their orgasms subsided, Clint found her pushing on his elbow, knocking him down on top of her. Clint buried his face against her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. He felt her nose graze his neck. Clint moved to slide his softening cock out of her when Natasha's hand grabbed his hip.

"Don't," she whispered, pupils still wide with arousal.

Clint gave her a questioning look.

"I like you inside me," she admitted softly.

Clint smiled sweetly at her and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. He felt her relaxing underneath him, his own body following suit. As Natasha's breathing evened out he rolled off of her, ignoring her protesting groan.

"We've got to get cleaned up," he told her.

Natasha pouted and made no effort to move from the bed.

Clint shrugged and stepped into the bathroom. He filled a glass of water for himself and grabbed a washcloth to clean himself. He grabbed a second cloth and was wetting it when Natasha walked into the bathroom. He held it out to her and she took it wordlessly, picking up the glass of water and drinking it.

Natasha wiped off her legs. As she was rinsing the cloth and moving to hang it up, she felt Clint's arms slide around her. She turned around to face him and gave him a tired smile. He kissed her forehead and raised an eyebrow in concern.

"I'm okay," she told him, answering the pointed look he'd given her healing bullet wound.

Clint followed her into the room and watched as she picked up his shirt, sliding it over her head. He slipped on his boxers and joined her in bed. His fingers moved under the hem of the shirt to trace the edges of the healing wound. Natasha began to fall asleep next to him as he continued tracing the forming scar.

He'd almost lost her… It was only now that he felt like she was truly okay, when she was lying in his arms and falling asleep. Clint inhaled her hair once again, forcing his thoughts away from what could have happened. She was still here, she was still breathing.

"I love you," he told her.

She stirred and rolled closer against him.

* * *

Natasha woke to an empty bed. She wasn't used to waking up alone after spending the night with Clint. He tended to stick around, even if he'd woken up before she had. She stepped out of the warm bed and padded across the chilly room to use the bathroom. Unsure of where her partner was, she walked out of the room and surveyed the living room. Empty. But the light in the kitchen was on.

She stepped into the kitchen and saw Clint standing over a bowl, stirring something. His pants were slung low on his hips and his lack of shirt revealed the wonderful muscles in his back from years of archery. Natasha licked her lips, deciding that she was going to surprise him.

Silently, she made her way across the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

Clint tensed at first, unaware that she was behind him. He turned to face her with a smile, "I'm making pancakes."

Natasha flashed him a sultry smile before dropping to her knees in front of him.

Clint's eyes widened as she palmed him through his sweatpants and he realized what she intended to do, "Nat, you don't…"

Natasha looked up at him, honesty shining in her eyes, "I want to."

Her gravelly voice combined with the image of Natasha on her knees in front of him had Clint's cock stiffening quickly. The blood rushed from his brain, necessitating that he brace himself on the counter.

Natasha pulled down his pants, letting them pool around his ankles, before wrapping her hand around his dick. She stroked him a couple of times, slowly, moving her hand all the way from the base of his cock to the very tip. A droplet of precum formed at the tip. Her tongue darted out and caught the drop.

Clint cursed as her tongue wrapped around his cock.

Natasha savored the slightly salty taste before leaning forward to lick along the vein on the underside of Clint's cock.

The muscles in his abdomen twitched as she ran her tongue up his length before swirling it around the head of his cock. Her hand squeezed the base of his dick gently, earning her a gasp from him. Without warning, she wrapped her lips around him and moved her mouth down until she could feel him hitting the back of her throat. Natasha forced her throat to relax so her gag reflex wouldn't kick in and pushed down a little farther.

"God," Clint gasped when he felt her throat open up for him and his cock slid the rest of the way in. She was deep throating him. Clint realized he wasn't going to last long.

One of his hands moved from the counter to tangle in her hair. Natasha tensed at first before going back to work on his cock. She hated it when men held her head in place while they fucked her mouth. But it seemed that all Clint want to do was touch her.

Moving back and forth, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked on his cock, enjoying every gasp she rang from Clint's lips. His hips tilted against the counter but he never pushed against her, though Natasha could tell he wanted to. She appreciated his restraint.

Her hand moved to cup his balls, fondling them before squeezing slightly and earning a whimper from Clint. She could feel him grow impossibly harder. His thighs began to shake as his balls tightened and Natasha knew he was close.

"Nat," he ground out. "I'm gonna…"

Natasha loosened her throat more and pushed her head closer to his hips, her nose practically buried in the patch of hair around his cock. She looked up at Clint and met his gaze. Then she swallowed around him, once, twice. He clenched the hand in her hair, tugging slightly on it as he came in her mouth. Natasha felt his cum hitting the back of her throat. She let it slid down. When he relaxed his grip on her hair, Natasha withdrew and let his cock slip from her mouth.

Clint was staring down at her, heavy lidded in his post orgasmic haze.

Natasha smirked at him before licking her lips. It was the first time she'd ever enjoyed giving a blowjob, and judging by the blissed out man in front of her, he'd enjoyed it too.

Clint wrapped his arm around the woman in front of him and kissed her roughly, licking the taste of himself out of her mouth. He slid one hand under the hem of the shirt she wore and ran his fingers against her slit.

Pulling back, he looked at her in surprise, "Jesus, you're soaked."

Natasha shrugged and pressed herself against him.

Clint picked her up easily and set her on the counter where he had been leaning, pushing the bowl of pancake batter aside. He pulled up his pants and knelt on the floor in front of her. A gentle nudge had her opening her legs for him to allow him room to rest between her knees. Staring at her dripping sex for a moment, Clint glanced up at Natasha to see her watching him.

He smirked at her before burying his face between her legs, breathing in deeply as he inhaled the sweet-sour smell of her arousal. His nose nudged her clit and she gasped.

Clint didn't waste any time as his tongue darted out to lick a strip up her slit from her entrance to her clit. He sucked on the bud of nerves briefly, humming as her nails dug into his scalp when she grabbed his hair. It was nice to have Natasha reacting so easily to him.

He pressed her legs further apart before slipping a finger into her. She groaned at the intrusion and bucked her hips against his face. After pressing against her walls a couple of times, Clint withdrew his hand and added a second finger, lips fastening around her clit.

Natasha practically mewled as he thrust his fingers in time with his tongue flicking her clit.

Focusing on his hand for a moment, Clint twitched his fingers inside of her, searching for that spongy spot that would send her over the edge.

Natasha's legs were already trembling when Clint brushed against her g-spot. She bucked hard against him, arching her back and throwing her head back in pleasure. Smirking, Clint scraped his teeth over her clit and pressed his fingers against her g-spot, sending her spiraling over the edge immediately.

He stared at Natasha in awe as she keened when her orgasm hit her. She contracted around his fingers hard, her thighs tightening slightly around his head. Clint remained still as the pleasure spread through her body. When the tension left, she slumped down and opened her eyes to look at him.

Clint withdrew his fingers and made a show of licking them off.

Natasha tugged on his hair and brought him up for a kiss, licking her slick off his lips and tongue.

"Good morning," Clint told her with a smile.

Natasha smiled back, resting her forehead against his and draping her arms on his shoulders, "Good morning."

"You distracted me from the food," he accused her.

Natasha shrugged, not troubled by the lack of food at the moment. She'd enjoyed her morning far too much to complain about the delayed breakfast.

Clint shook his head in mock exasperation and stepped away. He checked that the griddle on the stove was hot. Giving the batter another stir, he dolloped a few large spoonfuls onto the griddle before setting the bowl down. He reached around Natasha who hadn't moved to grab a couple of plates.

Natasha watched at Clint expertly flipped the pancakes and stacked them on the plate (which he then stored in the microwave to keep them from getting cold). As the last pancakes were cooking, he microwaved the maple syrup and set it on the counter. Holding out a plate to Natasha, he gestured for her to help herself.

Natasha dug into her pancakes with gusto, still sitting on the counter. Clint leaned next to her, stealing kisses from her between bites. Natasha couldn't help smiling with each silly grin he sent her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "You're going to Australia to monitor a lab we suspect is conducting illegal experiments. Should you discover evidence, we will send in an Australian team to handle the lab."
> 
> Clint snorted, "You don't think we could handle it?"
> 
> Hill shook her head, "I have no doubt the two of you are perfectly capable, however this is the mission."
> 
> "This is going to be boring," Clint sulked.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.
> 
> Thank you Accolade_Bespoke, Angie_Martinelli, and Karolina94 for commenting on the last chapter.

_Somewhere in Iowa—1995_

Clint rested in the back of the truck he and Barney had snuck into and looked up at the clouds passing above. The road was smooth and the landscape had flown by too quickly for his eyes to see any details, so he'd turned to the clouds. This was the second day since their escape from the orphanage. Barney had said they could show themselves tomorrow morning and ask to stay with the circus.

Clint couldn't wait. He was tired of riding in the back of the truck.

"I'm bored," Clint said.

Barney sighed. "Yeah, me too."

"We could play a game," Clint suggested.

"Like what?"

"Checkers?"

Barney snorted. "We don't have any checkers with us, stupid."

"Oh, right." Clint stayed silent after that. He didn't know what else to say, he just wanted his brother to talk to him.

Several minutes later, Clint sighed heavily. "I wish we'd brought some games with us."

Barney rolled his eyes and look up at the clouds. He didn't know what to do to make his brother happy. He smirked, "Hey Clint, want to play I spy?"

Clint's head shot up, "But we can't sit up in case they see us."

"Yeah, but we can play while looking at the clouds."

"Okay!"

Barney smiled, "Good. I'll start. I spy with my little eye…something that starts with the letter b."

"Hmmm…" Clint said. "A bird?"

"Nope."

Clint squinted at the clouds. "Butterfly?"

"Guess again."

The boys were silent for a moment while they both observed the clouds.

"Bunny!" Clint exclaimed.

Barney laughed at his enthusiasm. "You got it. Your turn."

Clint looked up for a while before grinning. "I spy with my little eye, something that starts with the letter d."

"D…" Barney thought. "I have no idea what you're seeing."

Clint giggled to himself, proud of himself for stumping his brother.

"Give me a hint?"

"It breathes fire," Clint said.

"You see a dragon up there?" Barney asked in disbelief.

Clint nodded and lifted his small hand to the sky. He pointed at one of the cloud formations. "See, there's the head and the wings and his tail goes all the way over there."

Barney nodded, "I see it now."

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

Director Fury studied the agents standing in front of him. He knew that what he was about to say would certainly make them angry. But he needed Coulson's expertise focused on this, not on the troublesome assassins. That didn't mean he could leave the assassins unsupervised though, which led to why Hill would be mad at him.

"Agents," Fury finally spoke. "I've got some work for the two of you. Coulson, I'm putting you in charge of running the Neptune operation in Lesotho."

Phil blinked in surprise, "I didn't know Neptune was ready to go, sir."

Fury nodded, "We're executing it starting Friday. I want you up to speed and on a plane tonight. You'll be running the op from the SHIELD base in Cape Town."

Phil nodded, "Yes, sir. Are Barton and Romanoff coming with me?"

"No, they'll be heading out on a mission of their own. Agent Hill will be overseeing them from here."

"Sir?" Hill asked in surprise.

"All do respect sir," Phil said, making it clear that his respect was in question. "Why are my agents being sent on a mission without me?"

Fury sighed, "I need you on Neptune, Phil. We can't fuck this up, it's the first chance we've had of being successful in years. I also know that if I keep Romanoff and Barton benched for much longer they'll start causing problems on base. In order to avoid that, I'm giving them an easy surveillance op that should last as long as it takes you to complete Neptune. I also realize that leaving the two of them unsupervised would be a poor decision, hence Hill's assignment."

Hill studied the man behind the desk, "Sir, I'm sure there's someone else who could handle it. I have other things I should focus on."

Fury shook his head, "No, I want you on this. Barton and Romanoff really only trust Coulson as their handler. You come second on their list, and I know that you'll be able to handle anything they try to pull. If I put someone they don't respect, which is everyone else, in charge, they'll walk all over the handler."

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Coulson counseled, hoping that Fury would catch his desire to stay and have Hill handle Neptune.

Hill nodded, "Sir, it would be best if Coulson remained with those two, not me."

Fury shrugged, "I don't really care about your objections. You both have your orders. Hill, please brief Romanoff and Barton. Coulson, get ready to leave."

Recognizing the dismissal, the two agents exited the room, waiting until the door was firmly closed before exchanging looks.

"Do you want me to be in the briefing?" Phil offered. He liked Maria and didn't want her to be eaten alive by his agents.

She shook her head, "No. I can handle them. Any advice on how not to piss them off right away?"

Phil shrugged, "I'm still working on that. I recommend you let them have a longer leash than you would with most. If it really is just a surveillance mission and you're running it from here, you should only need to interact for check-ins. Trust them and they'll trust you."

Hill nodded, "Great. Well, I'm going to go find two borderline-psychotic killers and tell them the news. I'm sure it'll go over well."

"You'll be fine," Phil told her, trying to sound more confident than he was. "Just know that if something happens to them, I'm going after Fury and then you."

Hill turned and started walking away, throwing her parting words over her shoulder, "I expected nothing less. Don't screw up Neptune."

* * *

Hill sat in the conference room, tapping her fingers against the table in front of her as she studied the door. They were late. She'd told Barton and Romanoff to meet her in the briefing room at one, it was now a quarter past. She had a feeling they were doing it on purpose, to test her. They must have suspected something was up, hell, they may have already gotten Coulson to tell them everything.

A glance at her watched showed that only a minute had passed since she'd last checked. This mission was going to require a lot more effort than she wanted to give it…

The door opened finally and Hill fixed her sternest expression into place as she glared at the agents stalking into the room.

"You're late," she informed them coldly after they'd taken their seats.

Natasha gave her an even look, not giving away anything. Meanwhile, Clint raised an eyebrow and smirked at the dark haired woman, challenging her to do something about it.

The three agents sat in silence for several minutes, sizing each other up. Finally, Clint spoke, "Where's Phil?"

Hill studied him for a moment, "You haven't already spoken with him?"

Clint shrugged, "He didn't say much."

Hill nodded, "He'll be running an international operation and is headed off base in an hour."

"Why?" Natasha demanded. She was beginning to trust the man, she didn't need to have someone else calling the shots on a mission.

"Because Fury needed him on the op," Hill told her. "Now, as to why the two of you are here—"

"I assume it's because we have a mission," Clint told her. "Why did Fury pick you?"

Hill blinked as she realized they'd figured out quite a bit. With a sigh, she answered, "Because he thinks I'm one of the only agents who won't take any shit from the two of you. Believe me, Barton, I'm not happy about it either."

Natasha remained silent, only watching the other woman. Her cold gaze made Hill anxious, she hadn't forgotten that the Black Widow was a merciless killer. It didn't bode well for her to be on the receiving end of that glare.

"It's a simple mission," Hill continued, ignoring the anger radiating off the agents in front of her. "You're going to Australia to monitor a lab we suspect is conducting illegal experiments. Should you discover evidence, we will send in an Australian team to handle the lab."

Clint snorted, "You don't think we could handle it?"

Hill shook her head, "I have no doubt the two of you are perfectly capable, however this is the mission."

"This is going to be boring," Clint sulked.

Hill stood up, "I suggest you bring a board game then. You leave tomorrow morning. Daily email check-ins and weekly calls with me."

The assassins watched her as she left the room, neither moving until the door was firmly closed behind her.

"You've got to be kidding," Natasha hissed, pulling one of the folders on the table close to her. "It's insulting how easy this mission is going to be. Not to mention the fact that they're making us go somewhere hot just as New York is starting to cool down."

Clint chuckled, "The good news is we'll pretty much be unsupervised. So, we may not even need clothes."

Natasha threw him a dirty look before stalking out of the room.

Clint grabbed his own file and followed her, still laughing slightly.

* * *

_Australia—2008_

"Barton," Natasha said, trying to get her partner's attention. For the past hour he'd been skipping through the songs on his computer, only listening to the first minute or so before putting it on the next one. It was driving Natasha mad. Turning away from the window, she looked at her partner, calling out again, "Barton."

Clint didn't even glance at her. The song changed again.

Natasha's eyes narrowed, he was ignoring her. A sigh escaped her lips.

The song changed again.

"Clint," Natasha said, a slight whine entering her voice.

No response.

Natasha looked out the window, starting to smirk as a plan formed. She turned back to Clint, "Barton! There's a herd of kangaroos outside!"

Clint's head snapped up as he jumped from his seat and rushed to the window. His hopeful face fell as he surveyed the empty yard outside the house, "That was mean, Romanoff. You know I really want to see a kangaroo…"

Natasha shrugged before pouting at him," You were ignoring me."

Clint couldn't decide if he should laugh or not at her pout. He smirked and looked down at the woman standing next to her, "Something you need?"

"Your music was annoying me," she said with a grimace.

"You don't like my music?"

Natasha shook her head, "I don't like your music when the song is changing every few seconds."

Clint's lips twitched, he hadn't realized it was bothering her and found it kind of amusing that it had been, "Well I'm bored. Listening to music helps."

Her eye roll told him she didn't believe him, "You're not listening, just skipping it when you feel like it."

Clint shrugged, "What do you suggest we do?"

"This is pathetic," Natasha told him. "We've only been here for a day."

Clint nodded, "This is going to be awful. What are the odds that we'll catch the lab doing something interesting?"

With a glance at the monitors they had set up, Natasha shook her head, "Not a chance."

Clint sighed and moved back to his computer.

Natasha glared as he began flipping through songs again.

"Stop trying to kill me with your mind," Clint remarked a moment later.

When his partner remained silent, he looked over, laughing at the murderous expression on her face, "I have an idea, just give me a second and I'll stop skipping songs."

She didn't respond, continuing to watch him.

A guitar riff sounded from the computer and Clint quickly turned the volume all the way up. He stood and walked towards Natasha as a piano joined the guitar. His offered hand was ignored as she raised an eyebrow at him.

_Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature rising,_

Natasha looked confused, "What is this?"

"It's Elvis!" Clint told her, semi-offended by her scorn. "You don't know Elvis?"

Natasha shook her head.

Clint grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him and began to dance with her.

Natasha found herself laughing as Clint pulled her around the room, following his movements easily.

"Girl, girl, girl, you gonna set me on fire," sang Clint along with the song.

Clint's gruff voice sent shivers running through Natasha. She leaned towards him as they danced.

"Cause your kisses lift me higher," Clint sang, smirking as if he knew the effect his voice had on her. "You light my morning sky, burnin' love!"

"Sap!" Natasha accused her partner.

Clint leaned in and stole a kiss, grinning boyishly at her as he pulled away, "I didn't write it. I can't believe you've never heard Elvis before…"

"Does this mean you're expanding my cultural education?" she teased.

"Hell yes. We really need to get you up to speed."

The pair stopped moving, standing close together as the song came to end. Natasha found herself caught up in the intensity pouring from Clint's eyes. She pushed onto her toes and kissed him gently, "I'm less bored now."

Clint smiled at her, "Good, but I've thought of something else we could do to while away the hours."

"Oh?"

With no more warning than a smirk, Clint scooped Natasha up bridal style and carried her into the bedroom. Natasha would have hit him for carrying her so presumptuously, but found herself distracted as Clint's lips fastened against her neck.

"We're working," she protested weakly as he dropped her on the bed.

Clint raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and settled back against the pillows. He was right, they weren't really doing all that much work on this assignment.

Clint made quick work of her shorts and top before divesting himself of his own clothing. His lips returned to hers.

Natasha wasted no time, pushing Clint's boxers down with her feet and sliding her own underwear off while he unhooked her bra. Without warning, she flipped them over and straddled her partner. His eyes were blown wide as he stared up at her. She smirked at the look he was giving her before gripping the base of his dick.

She closed her eyes and let out a breathy moan as she sank onto him.

Clint's eyes rolled back into his head as her warmth surrounded him.

Natasha placed her hands behind her on Clint's thighs and arched her back as she moved her hips against him.

Clint moved his hands to rest on her hips, content to watch her as she rode him. His fingers traced their way up her stomach, stroking and squeezing until he was cupping her breasts.

Natasha's breaths grew harsher and she shifted to look down at him.

Clint moved a hand between her legs, pressing firmly against her clit and bucking his hips up to meet her movements. Her eyes met his and she bit her lip, falling forward as her orgasm washed over her.

"Clint," she practically whimpered, eyes wide with pleasure.

The sound of his name on her lips brought him to the edge and a moment later he felt his own orgasm crashing through him.

Natasha remained draped across his chest as she came down from her high. She smiled lazily at him and gave him a gentle kiss.

Clint returned the smile, "Still bored?"

Natasha pretended to consider the question for a moment before shaking her head, "Nah."

"I don't want to move," Clint muttered a few minutes later as Natasha rolled off of him and curled up next to him.

"Hmmm," Natasha agreed. She knew she should get up and clean up, but was far too comfortable laying beside Clint to do more than succumb to sleep.

* * *

Two weeks into the mission left Natasha and Clint still bored out of their minds. They'd exhausted the handful of books and movies they'd brought and still hadn't seen anything remotely interesting happening in the lab they observed. One day, Clint had insisted they play a game making up stories about the people they watched.

Natasha played along until Clint insisted that the young intern was actually an immortal vampire, just waiting to snare her next prey. That's when she decided it was better for her to walk away and reread some of Grimm's Fairytales.

"Want to play a game?" Clint demanded suddenly. He had snuck up on her from behind the couch and was now peering over her shoulder.

Natasha gave him a annoyed glance and turned the page of the book.

"Please," Clint whined.

With a sigh, Natasha replied, "What game?"

"Monopoly!" Clint chirped jumping up and rushing around to the coffee table in front of the couch. He plopped the box on it and sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Doesn't that game destroy friendships?"

Clint smirked, "You don't think you can handle it?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, "I'm more worried about your delicate ego."

"Delicate," Clint snorted. "You're going down Romanoff."

Natasha placed a bookmark in purposefully and set the book to the side. She leaned forward as Clint began to unbox the game. She'd slid an emotionless mask into place. She was going to win.

"Do you know how to play?" Clint asked once everything was set up.

Natasha shook her head, "Never had a chance to play before."

"Okay, it's pretty simple. You get two hundred dollars every time you pass go. You can use that money to buy properties or get out of jail. Once you've bought a property, any time I land on it, I have to pay you. You can add houses and hotels to make me pay more. The game ends when all but one player is bankrupt, or when we get tired of it, in which case, the richest person wins."

Natasha nodded, "Sounds easy enough."

"I'll go first," Clint offered. "What you roll determines how many spaces you move. Oh, and dibs on Boardwalk."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at his last words before turning her attention to the board.

Clint learned quickly that Natasha was far better at games than he'd expected. He knew she'd grasp the concepts easily, and he really should have expected her to be ruthless, but he hadn't expected her to be so sneaky. She practically cheated in every game, just barely managing to stay within the rules and sometimes blatantly breaking them. Every time she won, Natasha would get a little half smirk that infuriated Clint. She didn't brag or anything, just smirk and move to another activity. After several days of it, Clint had stopped pestering to her to play games.

To fight against the boredom he found that accompanied the lack of games—and Natasha's insistence that they actually work and not have sex all day—Clint began planning their Thanksgiving. He devised two separate plans in the hope that they'd be able to return to New York before the holiday (it wasn't a high hope). The second, and more probable, plan was for the two of them to track down all of the traditional Thanksgiving foods and make a meal for themselves. Natasha hadn't mentioned the holiday, so Clint figured she wasn't expecting to celebrate.

A week before, he began searching for the required foods. The first, and most important thing, on the list was a turkey. Every supermarket he visited sold sliced turkey, turkey breasts, and a few even had turkey legs. But not a single one sold a whole turkey. They also didn't have much in the way of cranberry sauce or pumpkin pie filling. Clint quickly realized that he would actually have to find an American food store.

"Hey, Natasha," he said.

Natasha looked up from her book to see her partner rubbing at the back of his neck. "What's up?"

"Have you thought about Thanksgiving at all?""

She shook her head, "Not really. Are you planning to celebrate even though we aren't in America?"

"Yeah. And the not being in America thing is the problem. I can't find a turkey or cranberries or pumpkin pie. I was hoping you'd come with me to an American foods store and help me find everything we need."

Natasha studied him for a moment before nodding once. "Fine, but you're buying me some Reese's Peanut Butter Cups."

"Deal."

* * *

Two days later, Clint stood in the kitchen and began to get the turkey situated in the pan. He moved around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake up Natasha, who was still asleep in the other room. She had spent the night before writing up their daily email to Hill and preparing for the phone call they'd have in a few days. Hill wanted them to account for practically every moment of the day whenever she spoke with them.

Clint hummed softly to himself as he slid the turkey into the oven and went to work making the dough for the rolls. His hands were covered in flour and buried in the dough when Natasha walked into the kitchen, arms raised in a stretch, one hand covering her mouth as she yawned, wearing one of his big t-shirts hanging off her shoulder.

"Happy Thanksgiving," she mumbled as she went to grab a mug and bag of tea.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Clint said. He smiled at her, happy that she seemed willing to celebrate with him. "Did you sleep well?"

Natasha nodded. "Not bad, although you did hog the blankets last night."

"I did no such thing."

Natasha glared at him, "I woke up freezing with nothing covering me."

Clint smirked, "Well you don't know if I hogged them. Maybe my master plan was to leave you uncovered and take advantage of you?"

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him.

Clint sighed and turned back to the dough in front of him. "Okay, I'm sorry I stole the blankets last night. I will do my best not to do it again."

"Good." Natasha's voice was sultry in his ear and Clint struggled to keep from jerking around to look at her. He didn't want her to see his reaction.

"I'm going to shower," Natasha said as she sauntered out of the kitchen.

He watched from the corner of his eye.

"You're welcome to join me if you finish playing with that dough."

Clint worked harder as he heard the water flip on in the bathroom. He had no intention of staying in the kitchen all day working on the meal. He should get to have some fun.

Ten minutes later, he had formed a large ball of dough and set it in a mixing bowl, covered by some saran wrap and a towel to rise. Clint brushed the flour off the counter and into his hand, tossing it into the sink. He ran a wet paper towel over the surface to pick up the worst of the mess and threw it away. A quick rinse for his hands beneath the sink had him moving to the bedroom and wiping his hands on his sweats to dry them.

As he grabbed the door handle for the bathroom he heard the water switch off. Clint groaned and twisted the knob, pushing open the door to watch as Natasha stepped out of the shower with towel securely wrapped around her. She twisted her hair off to the side and bent slightly, squeezing the excess water out of it.

She smirked at Clint. "You were too slow."

Clint groaned again in frustration. "I was working on making us some delicious rolls. I would have been here sooner but I decided to clean up the mess before you got mad at me for it."

Natasha's smirk turned into a softer smile, though her eyes promised torment. "I'll make you a deal," she offered.

Clint stepped closer and nodded.

She picked up the hairbrush sitting on the counter and held it out to him, "Brush my hair and I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

"Done." Clint lunged forward, grabbing the brush and Natasha in one move. She relaxed against him and turned around to give him a better angle on her hair. She'd discovered during her recovery from her bullet wound that Clint was actually very good with hair. And makeup… She closed her eyes and tipped her head back a bit as his fingers threaded through her hair alongside the brush.

It only took him a few minutes to have brushed all of the tangles out of Natasha's hair. Clint set the hairbrush down on the counter and smirked at Natasha in the mirror as she opened her eyes.

She rolled her eyes in response and nodded. A moment later, Clint had pulled the towel off of her and draped his frame against hers. Natasha ground her hips back against his athletic shorts, satisfied with the growing bulge she felt. Clint pulled his shirt of and dropped it on the floor. His hands teased across her hips and stomach before roughly grabbing her nipples and twisting. Natasha gasped in pleasure from the slight pain. Her eyes slipped shut for a moment.

"Eyes open, darlin'," Clint commanded, holding his hands still. His breath ghosted along the curve of her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Natasha forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the reflection in the mirror. One of Clint's hands trailed down to her mound while he held her gaze. He slid two fingers through her folds, pressing against her clit. The nub throbbed under his fingers and he moved them to slide into her, now wet enough to allow the intrusion.

Natasha moved her feet further apart to give him better access. Clint pumped his fingers inside of her a few times before pulling them out and licking them clean, drawing a moan out of Natasha.

He pushed down his shorts to release his hard cock and grabbed Natasha's hips, pulling her back and down. Natasha grabbed the edge of the counter she was leaning against with one hand, the other unable to find purchase.

Clint lined himself up against her opening and leaned to whisper in her ear, "I want you to watch while I fuck you."

Natasha whimpered at his words, feeling her clit throb in response, and a moment later he was pushing into her, drawing out a gasp. She had to focus to keep her eyes from closing as Clint began to thrust into her, hard.

Clint kept his eyes locked with Natasha's in the mirror as he pounded into her, fingers twisting at her nipples. When her mouth dropped open and her panting grew heavier, he dropped one hand down to caress her clit. She let out a ragged moan as his fingers pressed down on the bundle of nerves insistently. A moment later, she threw her head back and shuddered against him.

As he felt her clamp down around him in orgasm, Clint paused his movement, letting her ride out the waves of pleasure. When she started to relax he began pounding into her relentlessly, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks as he chased his own release. Clint grazed his teeth across Natasha's neck, biting down when his own orgasm washed over him.

Natasha groaned at the sensation and sagged between the counter and Clint. Her skin was flushed from pleasure. Clint slipped out of her and grabbed a washcloth off the counter. He got it damp and helped Natasha clean up before turning his attention to himself.

Clint pressed a gentle kiss to Natasha's mouth. "I love you."

She smiled and leaned against him for a moment before stepping away. "You'd better go check on the food while I get dressed."

Clint nodded and followed her out of the bathroom, heading into the kitchen.

Natasha padded out of the bedroom several minutes after Clint had run out to check on the food. A contented smile graced her face. It was nice to relax in Australia and not really have to worry about work. Sure, they had to occasionally check the videos and watch for anything suspicious, but they both knew the odds of seeing anything was unlikely.

She picked up her book and moved to stand next to the window. One of the best things about being stationed in Australia was the view, she'd decided. The edge of the yard around the house was ringed by eucalyptus trees and the sunsets over them were stunning.

An object in one of the trees caught her eye and Natasha froze. It couldn't be, it was too perfect.

Not moving, she watched as it began to lower itself down the tree, slowly.

"Hey Clint," she called.

"What?" Clint called back from the kitchen over the sound of the oven door falling open.

"Come see this."

"See what?" he demanded. In the kitchen, he was totally immersed in cooking and was focusing on basting the turkey. He was barely aware of the conversation with Natasha.

"A koala."

Clint's head jerked up in surprise. He glanced down at the turkey and hesitated. "Are you messing with me?"

Natasha shook her head and turned to look at the kitchen. She bit her lip. "I'm serious, there's a koala in the yard. It's about to get out of one of the trees."

Clint's snort of disbelief made her shake her head.

"Right," Clint said. "Like the kangaroos you saw a couple of weeks ago were there."

Natasha sighed and stalked into the kitchen. She watched as Clint slid the turkey back into the oven and closed the door. He was setting a timer when Natasha grabbed his arm and began pulling him out of the room.

"Natasha," Clint whined. "It's not nice to keep messing with me!"

"You better be glad that I like you," she said menacingly. "Otherwise I would have left you in the kitchen and you wouldn't have gotten to see that."

Clint turned to look where she pointed, face morphing from annoyed to surprised to ecstatic in the course of a few moments. There, on the ground next to the trees, making its way across the yard, was a koala bear.

"Nat," he exclaimed. "There's a koala!"

She rolled her eyes and smiled slightly, "Yes, that's why I made you come over here."

"I really want to go pet it," Clint said longingly.

Natasha stayed silent, she didn't want to stop him but she wasn't sure that was a good idea.

"But I think it would stress out the poor guy if I did," Clint finished.

"We can stay here and watch it."

Clint nodded and put his arm around Natasha's shoulders, pulling her closer to him. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "Thanks for making me come look."

* * *

Two days after Thanksgiving, Clint and Natasha found themselves watching the scientists with mild interest. Something had changed in the lab, and the scientists were all gathered in the center of the room.

Natasha and Clint each had headphones pressed to their ears as they watched, hoping that their mission would soon be over. They just had to prove that illegal experiments were being completed in the lab and then they'd be on a plane back to New York.

The head scientist walked into the room, grinning in triumph. He held up a piece of paper, "I have here, the final code."

The other scientists applauded as cheered.

"I would like to recognize Dr. Laura Kellow for her brilliant work with the programming. Without her contributions to the design and command sequences for the nanobots, we would not be successful."

Dr. Kellow stepped away from the group and nodded in recognition of the applause

"Doctor," interrupted one of the younger employees after the applause had died out. "Will you tell us what these nanobots will do?"

The doctor smirked at Dr. Kellow, "I will allow Dr. Kellow to explain."

The woman stepped forward, "We've developed these nanobots in conjunction with a plan from the think tank AIM. They will be deployed to various world leaders and used to rewire their neural pathways. AIM will then use them to create a world where the leaders think the same way. And, as a result, the world be at peace."

The younger man looked uncomfortable, but quickly hid it to join in the cheers and celebration of his fellows.

Natasha turned to Clint, "I guess that's it. I'll call it in."

Clint nodded and continued to watch the celebration as Natasha called up Hill. When she came back to sit beside him, he gave her a small smile, "You know, I think I'm kind of sad that this mission is over."

"Our flight leaves tomorrow," Natasha told him. "We've still got some time to enjoy the freedom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “What does SHIELD want with a geneticist?” Natasha interrupted to ask.
> 
> “Mostly to keep him and his research from anyone else. There’s also evidence suggesting he runs highly unethical trials, often on young children,” Phil explained.
> 
> Natasha’s eyes darkened, her voice was deadly when she spoke again, “What kind of experiments?”


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating, I don't even have an excuse. Things should be on track for the rest of the week though.
> 
> Thank you Accolade_Bespoke, Karolina94, and 2sassyformyowngood for commenting on the last chapter.

_Semey, Kazakhstan—1998_

Natalia stayed silent as they bounced across the countryside in the utility van. The other two girls were shaking, one was whimpering. Neither had left the Red Room before and Natalia found their behavior shameful. The man in the driver's seat didn't look back at them once. Zabolotny sat in the passenger seat, and though he never turned around to face them, Natalia had no doubt he was watching them and would report directly to Ivan when they returned to the Red Room.

But for now, they were out of Russia and outside of Ivan's immediate control. Natalia planned to enjoy her time away, no matter what the assignment turned out to be. She'd seen a sign a few miles back on the road for Semey, a town she knew to be in Kazakhstan. It was a major nuclear facility during the Soviet Era. Was it possible that they were going to deal with radioactive materials? Natalia didn't know.

"Girls," Zabolotny said as the van came to a stop. Up ahead, Natalia could just see the lights of the town.

The other two jerked up, shaking with fear.

Zabolotny's lip curled as he examined them. "We will walk from here. You have a very important job when we arrive in the city. You must help me locate a scientist. And then we will capture him and return him to his homeland."

Natalia nodded. She understood. The others looked frightened.

"We will stay together unless I give you orders to go on your own," he continued. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Natalia said. The other girls were a beat behind her in responding.

"Come."

Natalia shivered as she stepped out of the van and into the cool, night air. A slight breeze chilled her skin in the otherwise pleasant night.

"We must hurry," Zabolotny said.

Natalia followed him as he began walking briskly down the street.

"Why couldn't we drive the whole way?" one of the girls asked.

He turned with a glare, "Are you too weak to walk a bit in the night? Then you should just wait here."

The girl looked cowed and ducked her head.

Natalia stayed silent and focused on the task ahead. How hard could it be?

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York - 2008_

"Vacation's over," Phil announced as he strode into Clint and Natasha's SHIELD quarters.

Natasha straightened from her seat on the couch and tried to pull her feet off Clint's lap. He held them in place, earning an exasperated look.

"Hey, Phil," Clint said. "I see you've survived without us. No idea what vacation you're talking about though."

Phil sent the younger man a glare, "We all know your last mission was a bit of a joke."

"Boring," Clint said. "The word you want is boring. I think Nat nearly killed me once or twice just so she would have something to do."

"You have no idea," Natasha muttered.

Clint pouted at her, pretending to be hurt by her comment.

She only shrugged in response.

"Regardless," Phil continued, shaking his head as he pulled the agents back on topic. "We need the two of you on something."

"Well that's specific," Clint said bluntly.

"Is this unofficial?" Natasha asked, swinging her legs off Clint. "Since we aren't having an official briefing?"

Phil shook his head, "I'll explain more once we're on our way. The three of us need to be on a plane to Cambodia in thirty minutes. Barton, you're flying."

The assassins hurried to gather their gear. They were waiting in the hangar five minutes early, both anxious about this mysterious mission Phil had received upon his return. When their handler arrived moments later, he gestured to the jet they would take.

Clint began circling the plane, completing his pre-flight checks while Natasha and Phil settled all of the gear in the cargo nets. The moved to the top of the ramp to wait for Clint to finish.

"Why the secrecy?" Natasha asked quietly, though it appeared they were alone in the hangar.

"Fury isn't sure who to trust on this. He's worried someone might tip off our guy since he always seems four steps ahead of us."

"What makes this time different?"

Phil shrugged, "It's our first confirmed location in almost two years. And unlike last time, only a handful of people know we've found him."

Silence fell between them. Natasha waited to ask about the details until they were in the air, mindful of the possibility of someone overhearing them.

"Clint's been on off-book missions before," Phil told Natasha. "He knows what to expect. But I should warn you, because this is unofficial, backup is nonexistent. It'll be just the three of us and we can't afford any mistakes."

"I understand," she replied, voice devoid of emotion.

Phil looked at the woman beside him and huffed a laugh, "I guess none of that's too different from the way things went with the Red Room."

"It is a bit familiar," she agreed with a small smirk.

Clint boarded the plane and took his seat, giving the other two agents a pointed look.

Phil leaned towards Natasha to whisper conspiratorially as they took their seats, "How long until he complains about missing Christmas?"

Natasha studied her partner for a moment before answering, "Thirty minutes tops. But I'd put it closer to fifteen."

Phil chuckled and strapped himself into the seat.

"Base, this is Alpha Foxtrot 7-9-3-4-6 ready for take off."

"Alpha Foxtrot 7-9-3-4-6, you are cleared for takeoff," a voice crackled over the radio in the cockpit.

"Here we go," Clint said with a smile as he maneuvered the plane out of the hangar.

They were ten minutes into their flight and had reached cruising altitude when Clint switched autopilot on and turned to his handler, "So why are we having to fly to Cambodia and therefore miss Christmas?"

Phil and Natasha rolled their eyes at his emphasis on missing the holiday.

"Does the name Miguel Sanchez mean anything to you?" Phil asked mildly.

Clint frowned, "Peruvian scientist that's on one of SHIELD's lists. Can't remember which list…"

"What does SHIELD want with a geneticist?" Natasha interrupted to ask.

"Mostly to keep him and his research from anyone else. There's also evidence suggesting he runs highly unethical trials, often on young children," Phil explained.

Natasha's eyes darkened, her voice was deadly when she spoke again, "What kind of experiments?"

Clint's steely gaze turned to Phil as he, too, waited for an answer.

Phil sighed, he should have known this mission was going to be difficult for his agents, "Nothing concrete. He offers money to the kids, often the eldest children of struggling families. In exchange, they give him blood and bone marrow. Eventually, he starts testing various gene therapies on them. To be fair, he does actually pay them and while there have been some side effects, none of them seem truly life threatening."

The assassins exchange dark looks.

"Here's what's going to really piss off the two of you," Phil continued with trepidation. "We're going to apprehend, not kill."

Natasha looked positively mutinous at his words.

"Why the hell are we keeping him alive?" Clint demanded.

"He's made some incredible breakthroughs in genetic modification. His goal is to eradicate genetic diseases. It's just his methods that are the problem." Phil explained.

"The ends don't justify the means," Natasha whispered.

Phil was struck just then by how young she was and how she had been the subject of experimentation when she was a child. Hell, the Red Room had done everything they could to "enhance" her, genetic modification was the least of their crimes. "No they don't," he replied sadly.

"SHIELD thinks they can get him to change his ways?" Clint mused.

Phil nodded, "We can't lose this guy, hence the speed and secrecy. I know what I'm asking isn't easy for either of you."

"It never is when kids are involved," Clint sighed heavily.

"It doesn't look like he's been in Cambodia long enough to move to human trials. We can stop him," Phil told them emphatically as he rose from his seat. He pulled two folders out of his bag and handed them to his agents. "Here's the info and mission parameters. I'm going to catch some shuteye while I can. We'll discuss specifics in a few hours."

As he lay down on the floor in the back of the jet, Phil watched Natasha slide into the copilot's seat and began whispering to Clint in Russian. Pushing thoughts of their new mission out of his mind, Phil allowed his sleep-deprived brain to take control and drag him into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Sisophon, Cambodia - 2008_

Natasha found herself enjoying the city of Sisophon in the northern part of Cambodia. Sure, it wasn't New York and only a few areas of the city could be called nice (those were where the tourists stayed). Of course, SHIELD had put them up in one of the nicer slums, they had their own house, but the surrounding neighborhood was crumbling, ramshackle buildings piled upon each other. The people were poor, but they weren't the worst off in the city. Most importantly, the people were nice. It was rare for Natasha to go somewhere she didn't speak the language. Turns out, most Cambodians spoke Khmer. Some of the older ones spoke French and many of the younger ones knew some English, but communication had proved challenging at times.

Luckily, a few of the older women living on the street (mostly in houses stuffed to the brim with children and grandchildren) had taken pity on the trio of SHIELD agents temporarily living among them. They showed them the markets and helped them haggle for food. The women laughed at their bumbling attempts to learn the language and had quickly come to love Clint. Clint had also managed to charm his way into the hearts of the children that spilled into the streets everyday. They'd drag him out to play soccer or see the newest stray they'd found.

For once, Natasha felt almost peaceful on a mission. They knew where Sanchez was staying, but hadn't seen much of the man. He seemed to be keeping to himself for the moment, something that allowed the agents to relax. If he was staying inside with no visitors, he wasn't experimenting on anyone.

Clint stepped into the safe house and smiled at Natasha, "Merry Christmas!" He'd been out running surveillance on Sanchez for the last few hours. Sanchez followed a strict routine that involved napping for two hours each afternoon. As a result, Phil had decided they would meet and talk strategy every day during those two hours.

"Anything new?" Natasha asked.

Clint shook his head, "Where's Phil?"

"He's been whisked off to buy some food by our neighbors," Natasha said with a smirk.

Clint's gaze took on a slightly predatory gleam, "So we're alone…"

"But not for long," Natasha warned as he stalked closer.

She allowed him to back her up against the kitchen counter, smiling at the playful glint in his eyes.

"Who says I need a long time?" Clint rumbled, stepping into her personal space. "There's no snow, but I think a kiss would make up for it."

Natasha rolled her eyes before leaning up to capture his lips in a heated kiss. If there was something she'd never tire of it was kissing Clint. The man knew how to kiss and he always seemed to kiss her exactly how she needed or wanted him to.

Clint's hands moved to rest on Natasha's hips as her arms twined around his neck. He pulled away for a moment and cupped her face with one hand, smiling adoringly at her, "You know, I love you."

Natasha felt her lips mimic her partner's, "You may have mentioned that once or twice."

"Good," Clint said before kissing her breathless again.

"Merry Christmas! I have food," Phil announced as he walked in the door, causing the two assassins to pull apart. He froze when he saw their position against the kitchen counter and cleared his throat awkwardly. Setting the bag he'd brought inside down the table, Phil started to back away, "You know, I'm going to—uh—wash up."

Natasha closed her eyes and let out a huff of laughter as she leaned her head against Clint's chest, "That wasn't weird at all."

Clint shrugged and hugged her for a moment, "Could have been weirder."

Unable to disagree, Natasha followed him over to the table and watched as he partner start digging through the bag of food.

"It smells great," Clint told Phil as the other man walked back into the room, looking only somewhat disturbed by what he'd walked in on.

"Good," Phil said, trying to keep his voice steady. He wouldn't meet Natasha's eyes.

Clint sighed dramatically, "Come on, Phil, that was not the worst thing you've walked in on me doing. We were just kissing."

Phil raised an eyebrow at his agent.

"What do you mean not the worst thing he's walking in on you doing?" Natasha demanded, half angry half curious.

Clint looked guilty for a moment and shook his head, "You know what, never mind. Let's eat."

"Subtle," Phil muttered as he pulled out his own box of food.

Natasha continued to stare at Clint. Her stare quickly had him shifting uneasily in his seat until he broke, "It was one time and I don't even remember her name."

Natasha smirked in triumph and turned to her own food.

Phil started laughing, "Barton, you realize that you just broke in under a minute? Maybe we need to give you a counter interrogation refresher when we get back to SHIELD."

"Nat's ten times scarier than anyone SHIELD has in counter interrogation," Clint shot back. "Honestly, she's probably scarier that anyone I'll be needing those skills for. There's also the fact that I would like to sleep in a bed tonight."

"And you think confessing that Phil walked in on you with another woman would ensure that?" Natasha teased.

Clint sent her a pleading look, "About Sanchez, the guy is pretty predictable. But people would notice if he suddenly disappeared. I think we're going to have to get him to go with us willingly."

Natasha continued smirking but allowed the topic change.

"That'll be difficult," Phil said after he swallowed. "Sanchez has been offered a place with SHIELD in the past. He turned it down. I don't see him coming in willingly."

"Okay," Clint allowed. "Maybe not willingly, but we can't just snatch him off the street or out of his house if we want this to stay quiet."

"We've been here a week and he hasn't done anything to indicate he's planning on leaving anytime soon or that he's ready to start trials," Natasha pointed out. "There's nothing to suggest we have to rush this."

"I have a feeling our timeline isn't as long as we think," Phil said with a shrug. "It's just a gut feeling, nothing concrete, but the fact that he's been out in the open so frequently in the last week makes me think he's hoping to be found. The question is, by whom?"

"Who else is looking for him?" Clint asked.

Phil shrugged, "I think it's safe to guess that there are several governments who'd love to get their hands on him, Interpol is interested, and of course we've got the baddies like HYDRA searching for people like him. Not to mention the numerous think tanks that would love to have such a gifted geneticist. AIM comes to mind…"

"Great," Natasha said. "So we need to get him to come with us relatively soon and we have to do it without alerting anyone else who wants him or making his neighbors suspicious."

"We're going to need a plan," Clint sighed.

"He's been going out to a bar every other night, maybe we try approaching him there tomorrow night," Natasha suggested.

"How are you going to get him to talk to you?" Phil asked. "The guy is bound to get suspicious easily."

Clint gave Natasha an appraising look, "How about we send in Nat as a young, unassuming American. If he won't talk to her, then we can flash the SHIELD badges, and if that fails we can just hit him over the head and drag him onto the plane."

"Well as long as we've got a plan," Phil said sarcastically while Natasha nodded in agreement with Clint.

* * *

The smoky atmosphere inside the bar made it difficult for Natasha to see Sanchez's face from across the room. She and Clint were occupying a table in the back corner, deeply shadowed. They were each sipping at their beers and studying the man seated at the bar.

Sanchez couldn't take his eyes off of the entertainment. A young couple was dancing on the stage, both scantily clad. The woman kept wrapping herself around the man, her actions clearly sexual. Natasha had to admit they were a talented act, though she wondered how long they would stay on stage. This bar was a weak cover for the brothel running above it. To give them credit though, they seemed to deal in men and women equally.

Sanchez took a swig from his beer, eyes never leaving the stage.

Natasha nodded at Clint and slipped away from him, over to the bathroom so that Sanchez wouldn't think she was with anyone.

Sauntering out of the bathroom, Natasha caught practically every eye in the room. She leaned against the bar and ordered another beer. The bartender leered at her as he passed her the bottle. Natasha popped the lid off and smiled at Sanchez beside her. She took a sip of the beer, making sure to wrap her lips all the way around the top.

"American?" Sanchez asked. His words were just slightly accented.

Natasha nodded and held out her hand, "Natasha. I'm here on vacation. I decided to take a year off before I have to find a job. I really wanted to see the world."

Sanchez nodded once, and turned back to the stage.

Natasha frowned slightly, it was unusual for men to not react to her. So either Sanchez was very good at hiding his emotions, or he wasn't interested.

"They're quite good," Natasha remarked, watching the stage with Sanchez.

"Indeed," Sanchez replied evenly, still not looking at her. He lifted his beer to take a drink and whispered softly, "He is very good."

Natasha caught herself just before she reacted to his words. She kept her face neutral, pretending she hadn't heard anything, meanwhile running through every option she had.

She threw a glance over to Clint's table and caught his eye. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking her what was going on.

She nodded towards Sanchez and shook her head, hoping Clint would figure out he needed to come over.

Clint pushed himself up from the table and stalked through the bar. He wasn't sure how Natasha wanted him to play it: jealous lover, friend, brother, strangers?

"Clint," Natasha beamed as he walked over. She turned to face Sanchez, "This is my friend, Clint. We're traveling together, you know, since I'm not his type but I definitely need a strong man around to make sure nothing happens."

Clint tried to keep the confusion from showing in his face, what was she talking about?

"Miguel Sanchez," the man said smoothly, offering his hand to Clint.

Clint shook it, smiling at the man, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Clint, what do you think of the guy on stage?" Natasha asked, giving him a significant look.

Confusion bloomed in his eyes for a moment before understanding took over, "He's decent. I've certainly seen worse."

Natasha nodded in response to Clint's unasked question. Yes, Sanchez was definitely not into women.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Natasha announced, stepping away from the bar. "You boys watch my drink!"

Clint gave a cheery wave to her retreating form before turning back to Sanchez. It was time to lay on the charm.

"What brings you to Cambodia, Miguel?" he asked, signaling the bartender for a beer.

Sanchez shrugged, "My work requires I travel. This is just the most recent place on my own version of a world tour."

"Oh?" Clint said, curiosity tingeing his voice. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a geneticist," Sanchez said with a proud smirk.

"Really?" Clint leaned forward. "That's like those guys in Jurassic Park, right?"

Sanchez's smirk widened, "Not necessarily. You see, they focused on nonhuman DNA. My research involves humans. I'm hoping to cure all kinds of dreadful genetic disorders."

"That's amazing," Clint said. "So, you could design a person?"

Sanchez nodded, "If the desire struck me, yes. However, there has been a lot of debate as to whether someone should design a person. I personally, believe there is no need if we can learn to alter the genetic code after birth."

"That's fascinating," Clint was saying when Natasha returned to the bar.

"I'm tired," Natasha mentioned with a yawn.

Clint nodded, "I guess I should get you back to the house. You know, Miguel, I'd love to hear more about your work. Maybe you'd like to come back with us…"

Sanchez appraised Clint for a moment before nodding and smiling, "I'd like that very much."

The trio exited the bar and began walking down the street.

"We've got a car over here," Clint told the man, gesturing around the corner.

Sanchez didn't object as they slid into the beat up vehicle and Clint turned the engine over. Natasha made sure to sit behind Sanchez in case he tried anything. She pulled out her phone and sent Phil a text, confirming they had the target in custody.

"Message received. Meet you at the airfield." Phil replied promptly.

"Tell me about yourself, Clint," Sanchez demanded.

"Well," Clint drawled, glancing at Natasha in the rearview mirror. She nodded once, giving him permission to reveal themselves. "I work for the government mostly. Some long distance work, occasionally close up if it's needed."

Sanchez's eyes widened, "You're—"

"SHIELD," Natasha supplied helpfully.

"You're going to kill me," Sanchez said, horrified. He tried to open the door, pulling with futility at the handle.

"Don't worry," Clint told the man beside him. "We're not allowed to kill you. SHIELD wants to talk to you."

"Though, if you don't cooperate, well, we may have to resort to excessive force and who knows what will happen then," Natasha added.

Sanchez was paralyzed in the passenger seat, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because we were ordered to," Natasha told him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Trust us, we'd love to kill you. What kind of psycho experiments on kids?"

Sanchez was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.

"We cleared to take him to the airfield?" Clint asked.

Natasha nodded, "Our ride will be there."

"I can pay you," Sanchez offered into the silence after several minutes. "I have money."

Natasha laughed cruelly, "Believe me, you couldn't afford to hire us."

Sanchez had seized upon the idea though and didn't want to let it go, "I'll give you everything I have, please, let me go."

Clint rolled his eyes and hung a hard left, sending Sanchez sprawling across the front seat, "Don't you get it? We're not doing this for money, if we were in it for the money we wouldn't be working for SHIELD."

"Then you are in it for your morals," Sanchez said. "Perhaps you don't understand the work I'm doing. I'm going to save humanity from itself by curing all genetic diseases. Just imagine: Alzheimer's, Cystic Fibrosis, Down Syndrome, Tay-Sachs, Sickle Cell, all gone. Think of the children left alive who will get to meet their grandparents, the children who will never have to worry about dying because of their DNA!"

A fanatic fervor had risen within the man and he slumped down into his seat, breathing hard.

"Your experimentation on innocent children is what bothers us most," Clint said through gritted teeth. His eyes kept flicking back up to the rearview mirror.

Natasha found herself biting her lip, wanting to turn around but unwilling to risk giving them away if they were being followed.

"The ends don't justify the means," Natasha told Sanchez firmly. "SHIELD isn't looking to stop you from researching. Based on what I understood, they want you to work with SHIELD backing and funding in order to continue your research. The difference is that there wouldn't be any free experimentation on humans and especially not on kids."

"My experiments have revealed so much to me," Sanchez protested.

"What about the hundreds of children you've left behind? Either weakened by your experiments to the point where they can't survive, or turned into outcasts and mutants. You've hurt more people than you've helped, and that means something is wrong with your method," Natasha told him. The longer she listened to Sanchez the more she realized that he actually did want to help. He was just misguided.

"We're being followed," Clint announced.

Natasha turned quickly in her seat to see a large SUV on the road behind them. "Subtle," she muttered.

"Who is it?" Clint asked. "I thought we were the only ones who knew he was here."

"Who knows?" Natasha said with a shrug. "We've been here for a weak, it's possible someone else knew. The question is how did they find us so quickly?"

Natasha grabbed the seatbelt Sanchez was using and pulled on it hard, forcing him back against the seat and restricting his breathing, "Who did you signal?"

"N-n-no one," Sanchez stuttered. "I have many enemies. I didn't want anyone to find me."

"Not even your sponsor?" Clint demanded as he accelerated and blasted through a busy intersection.

Sanchez shook his head frantically.

Up ahead, two more SUVs pulled out into traffic. The vehicles moved to block the road in front of Clint.

Natasha pulled out the gun she'd brought along. She checked that it was loaded and unbuckled her seatbelt, "You want me to take them out?"

Clint shook his head, lips tight in frustration as they barreled towards the roadblock, "No point. Those vehicles are definitely bulletproof. We need to lose them and get to the airfield."

"I'm calling this in," Natasha told Clint as she pulled out her phone and rapidly dialed Phil. "We've got three hostile vehicles—"

"Five," Clint corrected as two more appeared behind them.

"Make that five," Natasha continued. "We don't know who they are but they're well trained and definitely knew right where to find us."

"You don't think…" Phil breathed into the other end of the phone.

Clint's head shot up as the implication in Natasha's words hit him. Of course, someone had sold them out.

"Can you get to the airfield?" Phil demanded.

"Probably, but we'll likely have them right on our tail."

"Try to lose them, but get here as fast as possible. I'll have the plane ready, I can get us in the air, so you just have to get Sanchez on board."

"Copy," Natasha told him and hung up the phone. She tapped Clint's shoulder, "Head to the airfield. The jet will be ready, we've just got to get onboard."

"Hold on," Clint warned. He pressed down on the accelerator and the car jumped forward, speeding down the bit of street remaining before the roadblock. Natasha braced herself while Sanchez began shouting in Spanish. At the last second, Clint jerked the wheel sideways and sent them careening into oncoming traffic. Luckily, the drivers were paying attention and stopped before running into them. With a glance back to see that the hostiles were still in place, Clint speed up and drove back the way they'd come. He took a right and hurried to disappear from the new street before the hostiles caught up again.

"I see one," Natasha told him. She'd turned around to watch through the back window. "They're gaining."

The car hummed beneath them as it accelerated.

"That's about all the speed we're going to get out of this," Clint told her.

Sanchez was in the passenger seat praying, "Padre, por favor perdóname mis pecados y me llevan a la salvación. Te pido tu protección y tu favor, vigilar mí esta noche y todas las noches por venir…"  _(Father, please forgive my sins and lead me to salvation. I ask your protection and your favor, watch over me this night and all nights to come…)_

"Is he…?" Clint asked in surprise as he took a small side street, winding his way towards the airfield.

"Praying?" Natasha finished. "Yes."

"My driving isn't that bad," Clint muttered.

Turning out onto a main street again brought them into view of another large, black SUV. The windows rolled down as they approached and bullets flew through the air towards them.

"SHIT!" Clint swore, swerving out of the way.

Natasha held on to the seat as the car jerked beneath her.

Sanchez wailed in terror.

"Okay," Natasha said once they were no longer being thrown about the car. "New plan, stop trying to lose them and just head to the plane."

"Got it," Clint said. He pressed his foot to the floor and the car lurched forward. He was still driving erratically, switching lanes and making seemingly random turns to try to keep the hostiles far enough back. Natasha knew they were headed in the right direction though; Clint's sense of direction was phenomenal.

"Ten minutes," Clint said. "How do you want to play this?"

"Jump out and run when we get there," Natasha replied. "I'll grab Sanchez, you cover us."

Sanchez continued to rock back and forth in his seat, mumbling bits of prayer in rapid Spanish.

Clint gave her a doubtful look but nodded, "I'll get us as close to the plane as possible."

The gunfire sputtered to an end not long after and Clint focused on getting them there quickly.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of the car as Clint hit the brakes. They had made it to the airfield. Unfortunately, they were unable to get within one hundred yards of the jet awaiting them. A small concrete wall stood in their way, only a foot and a half tall, but their car was too low to get over it.

"Ready?" Clint asked as they came to a stop.

Natasha flung her door open in response, dragging Sanchez out of his own door in the same heartbeat. Clint threw the car into park and followed her lead. Within moments they were all outside of the vehicle and headed for the plane, Sanchez stumbling along as Natasha pulled his arm.

The hostiles piled out of their own vehicles and quickly took up positions, weapons aimed at the trio hurrying across the open space. They had just crossed the wall when someone issued orders to the men hostiles, "Kill them, aim for the red head."

Natasha's eyes widened infinitesimally.

Sanchez suddenly slumped to the ground.

Clint looked down at him incredulously, "He just fainted."

Natasha nodded, "This guy is dangerous?"

The hostiles started shooting and Clint bent over scoop up Sanchez, "Cover me, I've got him."

Sanchez bounced against Clint's back as the younger man took off sprinting for the jet. Natasha followed at a slower pace, sending her own shots towards the gunmen, making them duck for cover and interrupting the hail of bullets.

The ramp shook as the agents pounded up it. Once inside the jet, Clint dropped Sanchez to the ground and hurried to the cockpit. Phil slipped out of the pilot seat and moved to the back with Natasha. Together, they dropped the handful of hostiles charging towards the plane.

The ramp began to fold up and they stepped out of sight once the ramp provided enough cover.

"Buckle up," Clint called back.

The two agents hauled Sanchez into a seat and strapped him in. He was starting to regain consciousness and looked very confused as to his location. Natasha gave him a disgusted look before going to take the copilot seat. Within moments they were in the air.

"Well that was stressful," Clint said once they'd all started to relax.

Natasha gave him a dirty look before turning to Phil, "Someone sold us out."

Phil nodded, "I know. I plan on looking into once we're back at SHIELD."

"What's going on?" Sanchez finally managed to say from his seat. He looked sick.

Phil nodded to the agents in the cockpit and turned to Sanchez, "Hello Mr. Sanchez. I'm Agent Phil Coulson."

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

Fury listened to the trio in front of him as they reported their actions during their time in Cambodia. He was glad they'd managed to bring Sanchez in without too much difficulty, now it was up to him (and Hill) to convince the man to start working for SHIELD and using ethical methods in his research.

"It was strange," Natasha told him firmly once they'd reached the point where they were at the airfield. "When the hostiles exited the vehicles, one of them told them to take us out. They weren't there for Sanchez, or at least they didn't want him alive. In fact, they were told to 'aim for the read head.'"

Fury frowned, "Was it the Red Room?"

Clint was the one who responded, "No, the speaker was American and they didn't have the same presence as the Red Room employees I've met. But I agree with Romanoff, Sanchez wasn't the goal. They didn't come after him until we had him in custody. Why wait when they could have snatched him before we did?"

"Sir," Phil said. "We're fairly certain someone sold out the mission. We had no intelligence reporting there were other interested parties in the area and it wasn't until I reported success that those parties appeared. There's a mole inside of SHIELD. It's too much like Siberia for it to be a coincidence. Someone is targeting Hawkeye and Black Widow."

"That's worrying," Fury said mildly. "We'll need to start looking into that. The two of you have proved yourself to be the best agents we've got and make a formidable team. It's not surprising you've made enemies, but it's disturbing that those enemies seem to have the power to actually come after you."

"I think someone on the Council might be involved," Clint told the room.

When everyone looked at him doubtfully, he shrugged, "Think about it, they don't like us to begin with. Then there's the fact that some of them are downright hostile to us. If someone on the Council is pulling the strings, they'd have access to the information and resources required to come after us in Cambodia and to tip off the Russians while we were in Siberia."

Natasha shrugged once, "It's plausible, but we need proof."

"Phil," Fury said. "I want you to look into this discretely. Don't focus on the Council though. Trace it from the bottom and we'll eventually get to the top, but we don't want to tip off whoever is pulling the strings. I agree something is going on. Meanwhile, Romanoff, Barton, don't get yourselves killed."

"That's real helpful," Clint said sarcastically.

"Get out of my office, Barton," Fury growled.

Dismissed, the three left the office nodding to each other as they went their separate ways, each thinking about the conversation they'd just had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Again, I'm really sorry about the delay in updating. Leave a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “Phil,” Clint interrupted. “Be honest, how bad is this?”
> 
> “Really damn bad.”
> 
> “Great,” Clint said. “Let’s get to work then. We certainly wouldn’t want the bad guys to win first thing in 2009, it would set a bad example.”


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to AnneMarie, 2sassyformyowngood, luckyrogue7, and Accolade_Bespoke for commenting! You all are the best :)
> 
> To all of you guessing about who keeps selling out the team, fair warning that it probably won't be covered in this story. We're getting close to the end and I don't have any plans of revealing it (although that may change as I write the finale).

_Oklahoma City, Oklahoma—1996_

Clint swallowed hard and tugged at the purple tunic nervously. His forehead was sweaty behind the mask. Eli Marsh, one of the funambulists (the proper term for tight-rope walkers, he'd told Clint a year ago), for the group came up behind the boy and patted his shoulder.

"You ready?" Eli asked.

Clint opened his mouth before snapping in shut, worried that he was going to vomit if he tried speaking.

"Yeah," Eli continued with a small smile at the kid. "I felt the same way before my first show. I was convinced I was going to mess it all up."

"Did you?" Clint managed to ask.

Eli shook his head, "It wasn't perfect but there weren't any terrible errors because I'd practiced so much. And the audience had no idea what it was supposed to look like. They loved it."

Clint nodded.

The crowd cheered from behind the curtain and Clint stepped forward, knowing his cue was coming up. Eli gave him a pat on the back, "You've got this, kid. Go show 'em what you've got."

"Please welcome….The Amazing Hawkeye!" yelled Carson in his role as ringmaster.

Clint made himself smile, just like Trickshot had taught him and stepped out into the ring. The crowd deafened him, Carson nodded at him and stepped away. Clint took a bow and lifted his purple bow, stringing an arrow as he did. Without any more delay, he began shooting at the various targets around the ring, drawing oohs and aahs from the watching audience.

* * *

_New York City—2008_

After their time in Cambodia, Clint and Natasha had spent little time on base. They trained and then they left. Even Phil was avoiding the place as much as he could. The trio knew that they needed to lie low so that whomever had screwed up their last mission didn't find a reason to strike again. So instead of working, Clint and Natasha spent time enjoying the city.

On New Year's Eve morning, Clint rolled over in bed and smiled at the woman sleeping next to him. Her red hair fanned across the pillow and she was relaxed. He pulled her closer to him and settled back into the pillows, trying to fall back to sleep. They had nowhere to be, so no reason to leave the apartment in Clint's opinion.

Natasha shifted in her sleep, nose crinkling as she burrowed her face into Clint's neck. When she stilled, her breathing evened out and light puffs of air tickled Clint's neck. Deciding he was too awake to sleep again anytime soon, Clint began thinking about the past year. It had been a good year, despite the time spent in the infirmary and recovering from injuries. Somehow, he and Natasha had become friends and not long after that, they'd become more. She was everything to him. Phil had come around to Natasha joining them and while he wasn't actively seeking her out, he wasn't avoiding her either. They'd gotten rid of some bad guys along the way as well.

Natasha moved again and blinked awake. She only woke up slowly when she was completely relaxed.

Clint smiled at her and gave her a chaste kiss.

"Good morning," she said, voice huskier than normal from sleeping.

"Happy New Year," Clint replied with a smile.

"Hmmm…" Natasha hummed as she burrowed closer. "You know, it's been a pretty good year."

Clint chuckled, "That's what I was just thinking about. I just hope this coming year is even better."

"Any big plans for today?" Natasha asked. She raised her hands above her head and stretched.

"Not get out of bed?" Clint suggested. "Maybe move to the kitchen for food and TV to watch the ball drop."

"So, no big plans."

Clint shook his head, "Nope. Did you have or want any big plans?"

After a moment of thought, she shook her head, "I'm good with bed." Natasha leaned forward to kiss Clint heatedly, but the sudden ringing from his phone made her pull back.

"Shit," Clint said as he flipped it open. "Hey Phil. Please tell me this is because you are looking to hang out to celebrate the New Year?"

"No such luck," Phil told the younger man on the other end of the call. "Is Romanoff with you?"

"Yeah, want me to put you on speaker?" Clint offered.

"That would make it easier."

Clint turned the speaker on and set the phone on the bed, "We're listening."

"You've got a mission. We need you to come in today to start prepping for it. We'll leave tomorrow," Phil told them.

Clint groaned.

"Any chance of delaying it a day or two?" Natasha asked.

"Sorry," Phil said ruefully. "Since the last mission was off-book, it looks like you haven't been on a mission since November. There's no reason to earn us a delay. And we've got a big briefing that'll take a good portion of today. I'll explain more when you get here."

"See you soon," Clint said. He hung up and looked at Natasha, disappointment etched across his face. "This makes three major holidays we weren't here for."

Natasha shrugged, "At least we were together. Come on, Barton, time to go to work."

Sighing, Clint followed her into the bathroom. She had a good point.

_SHIELD Base, New York—2008_

The briefing room Phil had sent the agents to was empty when they arrived. Two thick packets sat on the table at the seats Clint and Natasha usually occupied. With trepidation, the agents took their seats and waited for their handler. Curious, Clint picked up the packet in front of him and began flipping through it. A crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"Somalia?" he eventually muttered.

Natasha shrugged, "Coulson will explain."

At that moment the door swung opened showing a ruffled Phil Coulson. His jacket was unbuttoned and his tie loosened.

"Somalia?" Clint demanded as the door swung shut.

Phil ran a hand over his face and sank into his seat, "We've got a lot to cover, but yes, Somalia. As you may or may not be aware, the country has been in a state of civil war for going on three years. Islamic extremists want to take over the government from the Transitional Federal Government. In 2006, Ethiopia began military interventions in favor of the TFG."

"Let me guess," Natasha deadpanned. "The US backed them and then withdrew support."

Phil nodded apprehensively, "Pretty much. We've just received word that the Ethiopian forces are withdrawing in the next few weeks. They haven't announced it yet, but it'll happen quickly and then the TFG will be alone against the extremists. For obvious reasons, we'd like to proven that from happening. In fact, SHIELD would like to strengthen the TFG and use them to combat the pirate situation they've got."

"Pirates? Like Jack Sparrow?" Clint chimed in.

"No," Phil said with a withering look. "However, your mission has little to do with the TFG. Once the Ethiopians are gone, the only thing standing between the extremists and control will be the small TFG army and a sparse group of African Union peacekeepers. The two of you are going in to destroy the largest weapons cache we know of. It belongs to the Islamic group Al-Shabaab."

"Sounds easy enough," Natasha said pointedly. She was wondering why the need for the lengthy prep time and the reason behind the massive packets.

"It won't be," Phil told them seriously. "Not only will you have to deal with surviving in rural Somalia, the cache is a good day's hike away from the nearest village. There's also the extremists, excited TFG soldiers, and natural wildlife to worry about. Those packets contain all of the relevant information you need about the war up to this point including the major players and events. There is also information about the cache location and contents. You'll need to have those memorized before we leave."

"Phil," Clint interrupted. "Be honest, how bad is this?"

"Really damn bad."

"Great," Clint said. "Let's get to work then. We certainly wouldn't want the bad guys to win first thing in 2009, it would set a bad example."

* * *

_Mogadishu, Somalia—2009_

Clint surveyed the safe house they'd been given in Mogadishu—the capital of Somalia—and shook his head in disappointment. It was nothing more than a single room with a small stove and sink in one corner, a curtain hung around the toilet and bathtub, a rickety table in the center, and a mattress thrown on the floor. It was certainly less than prime real estate.

"Well," Phil said as he dropped his gear on the table.

"This place sucks," Clint stated.

"It's—" Phil trailed off.

"Yeah, see? Even you can't find anything nice to say about it," Clint continued, eyeing the mattress suspiciously. "I think I just saw something crawling on that thing. Good news is I only have to spend one night here!"

Natasha looked over from examining the "bathroom," nose wrinkled in disgust, "It's not like our living situation after this is going to be filled with five star accommodations."

"No," Clint agreed. "But I will get to pick where we end up sleeping."

"Everyone take an earpiece now," Phil commanded from the table. He was unpacking their communications equipment. He would be staying in Mogadishu and coordinating with African Union and Ethiopian forces. He would then relay any and all information to Clint and Natasha while they were out of the city. They were working on a short timeline, which meant Clint and Natasha wouldn't be able to spend time running recon on the weapons cache. They had to locate it, destroy it, and get themselves out without being caught by any of the soldiers in the area.

"Don't forget to filter all the water," Natasha said dryly as she turned on the sink and watched as dark brown water poured out. "And as for the food, something tells me I want to live on MREs while we're here rather than risk some nasty bacteria wreaking havoc on my system."

"As much as I hate MREs," Clint said. "I'm with you on this. Not that I'm not interested in trying Somalian food, but I figure we probably shouldn't be taking food from people who need it. The UN and AU have been sending a ton of resources to the region."

Checking his watch, Phil turned to face his two agents. "We ought to get some sleep. We're going to have an early morning and a few exhausting days after this. Do you two want the bed?"

Clint eyed the offending furniture dubiously before turning to Natasha. She gave an almost imperceptible headshake and Clint answered, "I think we're good on the floor."

Phil shrugged, "Suit yourselves. Just remember I offered when you wake up in pain from the floor."

Natasha found herself unable to fall asleep as the two men drifted off. Her mind couldn't stop racing as she contemplated their mission, the situation in Somalia, and wondered about what was going to go wrong. She knew better than to expect that things weren't going to go horribly wrong in the next few days.

Beside her, Clint twisted away and stiffened. Wondering if he had woken, Natasha propped herself up on her elbows and leaned over to study him. A frown settled across her face. Clint looked tense, which meant he was probably dreaming of less than pleasant things. But the tension didn't increase as she watched, so perhaps it wasn't terrible enough to require being woken.

By the time Natasha had settled back beneath the blankets, Clint's breathing had accelerated. Concerned, she moved to curl against him. Natasha knew that Clint had nightmares, she'd seen several of them since they'd started their relationship. And every time, she felt gutted when he woke up. A nightmare was not a good start to the mission.

Clint twisted again, a moan escaping his lips. Natasha remained still, straining to hear Phil's even breathing and her partner's erratic breaths.  _How bad was it going to be?_

Suddenly, Clint jackknifed up, swinging his knife wildly.

Natasha stayed low for a moment before sitting up and reaching out to place a gentle hand on his right bicep. Flinching at her unexpected touch, Clint turned to face her and slowly lowered his arm and knife as he realized where he was and who was with him. On the bed, Phil shifted in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath.

Clint's shoulders slumped in defeat as he took a deep breath and stowed his knife.

"Clint," Natasha said softly. "Вы хотите поговорить об этом?"  _(Do you want to talk about it?)_

"На самом деле, нет," Clint replied.  _(Not really.)_

"Хорошо." Natasha pulled him down so she could rest her head against his shoulder.  _(Okay.)_

They assassins laid in silence for a few minutes before Clint spoke again, "Это был Афганистан."  _(It was Afghanistan.)_

"Когда вы были в армии?"  _(When you were with the Army?)_

Clint shrugged beside her, "Бомба взорвалась, когда мы приближались к городу. Трое мужчин мертвые, потому что я не заметила, пока разведку…"  _(Bomb went off when we were approaching a town. Three men dead because I hadn't spotted it while scouting…)_

"Это не твоя вина," Natasha told him with conviction.  _(It's not your fault.)_

"You're wrong," Clint breathed.

Natasha sat up to face her partner, "No I'm not. Ты в порядке. И я знаю, что вы сделали все, что могли, чтобы сохранить эти мужчины. Вы так хорошо, иногда я задаюсь вопросом, если я заслуживаю тебя…"  _(You're good. And I know that you did everything you could to save those men. You are so good, sometimes I wonder if I deserve you…)_

"Я не очень хорошо," Clint snorted. He waited a moment before continuing. "Иногда я задаюсь вопросом же о вас."  _(I'm not good. Sometimes I wonder the same about you.)_

"Я люблю тебя," Natasha said, pressing her face into Clint's neck.  _(I love you.)_

Clint couldn't help the ridiculous grin that spread across his face at her words. It was the first time she'd ever told him how she felt, "Я тоже тебя люблю."  _(I love you too.)_

The two assassins remained silent and awake for the rest of the night, content to lie beside each other before reality pulled them back.

* * *

_Rural Somalia—2009_

Natasha had to admit that she was grateful for SHIELD's resources and technology while trekking through rural Somalia. For one, their supplies were the best out there and made to be light and durable, so her pack didn't weigh too much. Add in the fact that their technology seemed to actually work, and Natasha was thrilled. Their GPS system was invaluable as they navigated through the region, avoiding most of the geography that would be difficult to navigate. Even the comms system was clear. And best of all, their water filtration worked and the MREs weren't terrible. It was more than she'd ever gotten from the Red Room on a mission. Then again, they didn't really send her into rural, developing countries after she finished training. So she felt a bit out of her depth.

Clint seemed to thrive in the outdoors. So far, he'd convinced her to stay every night outside and not seek shelter in any of the villages they'd passed. It was probably for the best since most people spoke Somali or Arabic. The assassins could speak Arabic but didn't want to risk giving themselves away or being linked to the extremists, so it was best they interacted with the locals as little as possible. Clint had either set up their tent, secured them in trees, or built a shelter for them each night while Natasha called in to Phil.

While the weather was a bit warmer than either would have liked and the bugs were a bit annoying, the assassins were finding this mission enjoyable so far. It was kind of fun to trek through untouched nature with only each other for company.

Of course, in the last few days, they had needed to hide out when groups of soldiers passed them or if they got to close to some larger towns. Phil's work with the government troops proved effective since they always had plenty of warning.

Clint drew to a stop in front of Natasha and wiped his forehead against his arm, "We've got maybe another hour until we lose the light. With any luck, we'll reach the next village by then. From there, we've got one more day of walking and we're at the cache."

Natasha nodded and took a large drink of water. She really didn't like hot weather.

Their comms system crackled to life and the assassins froze as Phil began speaking to them rapidly, "You've got a large group of extremists in the area. They seem to be headed to the village just north of you."

"How far away?" Natasha demanded.

"Less than two miles east of you."

"Jesus," Clint exclaimed. "How did they get so close without us knowing?"

Phil sighed, "That's the question of the hour. No one knew about them until a satellite caught a glimpse and we've been working on tracking them ever since. Destroy the cache and get out of there."

The line fell silent and Clint ran a hand through his hair, "The earliest we could get the cache would be tomorrow night, and I'd still suggest waiting to move until the next morning so we had a better chance of getting away and not getting lost."

"So we're looking at a few more days out here," Natasha said. "That's fine. We can handle whatever comes at us. Let's keep going, we'll keep our distance from the extremists, but I think that village is a good goal for the night."

Clint nodded, "Let's go then."

An hour later, Clint and Natasha were hiding on a hill above the village and watching as the Al-Shabaab members rounded up all of the villagers. A few tried to run as they were marched out of their houses. The assassins both looked away when gunfire erupted and stopped the bids for freedom.

"They're taking the boys," Clint breathed in horror as they watched the men be separated from the women and children. Then the young boys and men were pulled out and forced to stand in a separate group.

The Al-Shabaab men were wandering through the groups, clearly enjoying the terror they instilled, some grabbing women and girls and dragging them into the now empty houses. Though the screams didn't reach Clint and Natasha, they knew what was happening inside. None of the women reappeared when the men did.

"This is horrible," Natasha said, desperation evident.

"We can't do anything," Clint told her sadly, not taking his eyes from the scene below him.

The men were being offered a choice below: join or die. Many seemed to choose death. When they chose, they discovered they sentenced their families as well. Finally, it ended. Only a handful of men had chosen to join. They stood, shaking in front of their new comrades. Then it was the boys' turn. Most of them didn't resist as guns were shoved into their hands, the ones that did were brutally beaten down and shoved out of the group.

Then another group of soldiers appeared. The oldest—and the leader—couldn't be older than sixteen or seventeen. He led the group over to the new child soldiers and ordered them to face the boys and families left standing beside a building. The command went unheard by the assassins, but they watched in silence as the boys lifted their guns and opened fire. The handful that refused were grabbed and forced to join the dead littering the ground. Another round of gunfire and it was over.

Natasha turned away from the grisly scene below and took a deep breath, "This is wrong. We should have—"

"I know, but what could we have done?" Clint asked softly. "Even you and I would have difficulty against a group that large, especially since they had hostages…"

"That doesn't make it better," Natasha snapped.

"No, it doe—" Clint stopped speaking and spun to face the trees behind them. He'd heard something. Natasha followed suit and drew her guns silently. Someone was approaching them.

Both assassins tensed, ready to spring into action when a young girl with a baby strapped to her back stumbled out of the trees. Her eyes widened in fear as she took in the assassins standing in front of her.

Natasha gave Clint a doubtful look as he lowered his bow and smiled at the girl, "هل يمكن أن نفهم لي؟"  _(Can you understand me?)_

The girl nodded silently, still clearly terrified.

"My name is Clint," he told her in Arabic. "This is Natasha. We're friends, what's your name?."

"Ayaan," the girl whispered. She sent a worried glance back at the trees.

"Are you from the village?" Natasha asked, holstering her guns.

Ayaan nodded.

"Are there others with you?" Clint probed.

Ayaan looked back at the trees quickly before turning to face the assassins, "Please don't hurt us."

"We won't," Natasha assured the girl as Clint headed to the trees. "Can you tell your friends to come out please. We want to help you."

Turning to the trees, Ayaan beckoned for her companions to come out. Six more children appeared, the eldest was a boy of about twelve years old.

"We are supposed to get to the refugee camp," the boy said. "I am Saalim. Can you help us?"

Clint sent Natasha questioning glance. She sighed and shrugged, they couldn't exactly turn the kids loose, especially with Al-Shabaab troops so close by.

"Yes, we can. Where is the camp you were headed to?" Clint answered.

"Two days walk west," Saalim said.

"Okay," Clint told the kids watching him. "There's something we have to take care of before we can go. It's about a day away from here and then we'll take you to the camp. But you must do whatever we tell you to, understood?"

The children nodded solemnly, the understood.

"I'll call Phil," Natasha muttered in English.

"I'll get them ready to go," Clint replied. He switched back to Arabic when he addressed the kids, ushering them away from the top of the hill and back into the trees.

"Coulson, you copy?" Natasha asked once they were out of sight.

"Loud and clear, what's wrong?" Phil asked, worry tingeing his voice.

Natasha sighed, "We're fine. But we just watched Al-Shabaab slaughter a village. We've got the eight children who escaped with us."

"Shit," Phil said. "You've got to get that cache taken care of."

"I know," Natasha replied, allowing her frustration to show. "But we can't abandon these kids. They don't deserve what will happen if they end up getting caught. The boys will be forced into the fight if they're lucky, I don't want to imagine what the girls will go through."

"I can't tell you to ignore the mission," Phil said.

Natasha nodded, "I'm not asking you to. We can handle this, but you needed to know what the new situation was."

"Good luck," Phil told her and she ended the call.

Natasha faced the trees and ran a hand through her hair. She squared her shoulders and headed towards her partner, they could do this.

* * *

Clint and Natasha walked with the kids until they were a few miles away from the village. By then, it was twilight and they found themselves standing on the grassy savanna with the children crowded around them. The kids were slowing down and clearly wouldn't make it much farther.

"We need to stop," Natasha told Clint. "They're exhausted and it's getting dark."

Clint nodded and came to a halt, "We're going to sleep here tonight."

The children sank to the ground silently and stared up at the to agents questioningly.

"We need food and water," Clint said with a dubious look at the group. There was no way that they had enough supplies for the eight children and themselves, so it would be best to gather while they could.

Natasha nodded, "There's a creek not far from here, we can ask Saalim to take someone else and gather water. They've all got water bottles."

"Are you okay staying with the kids?" Clint asked. "Maybe get a small fire going so we can cook when I get back. I'll find something for us to eat and keep an eye on Saalim and whomever he picks."

"Okay, we'll be here," Natasha told him as he approached the boy and told Saalim what they were doing.

Ayaan walked over to Natasha, cradling the baby she had with her. The infant was whimpering and trying to roll closer to Ayaan. She looked up at Natasha and took a deep breath, "He is hungry but I cannot feed him."

Frowning, Natasha knelt down, "How old is he?"

Ayaan shrugged, "Two months. He has no teeth."

The baby opened his mouth and let out a wail. Ayaan reached out and offered the baby to Natasha.

Natasha's eyes widened as the baby was placed in her arms. She didn't have a whole lot of experience with children, let alone with infants. The baby burrowed into her chest, seeking for food. Upon failing to find any, the child cried out again.

"Shhh…" Natasha tried, rocking slowly in an attempt to quiet the child.

The baby calmed for a few moments before beginning to wail again.

Ayaan stood nearby, watching scornfully as Natasha failed to help the baby.

Natasha beckoned her over, "Is this your brother?"

Ayaan nodded.

"I think I have some milk we can give him," Natasha told the girl. "But I need you to hold him for a few minutes while I find it."

The girl agreed and took the baby back, cooing and hushing him in Somali. Dropping to a knee, Natasha slid her backpack off and rummaged through it. Sitting at the bottom was a piece of thick cotton cloth. It had been wrapped around the handful of jerky she and Clint had set out with. She pulled out the cloth and set it on her knee. Next, she withdrew her water bottle and a small packet of powdered milk.

Skimming the directions, Natasha went to work preparing the liquid. Mixing the powder into the water took only a few minutes. It wasn't an ideal temperature for drinking or anything, but Natasha hoped it would satisfy the baby.

"Come here," Natasha commanded Ayaan before moving to sit cross-legged. The girl approached and looked at the water bottle of milk. Natasha tried smiling, "I need you to help me out here. Go ahead and set your brother on my lap."

The girl obliged and stared at Natasha.

"Okay," Natasha said and picked up the cloth. She held it so it created a cone shape. "Go ahead and pour some of the milk into this. It should work to feed him."

The girl obeyed slowly, watching as the milk pooled inside the cloth and started to drip out of the tip. A few drops landed in the baby's mouth and he quieted looking up with his mouth open for more.

"Stop," Natasha said when she deemed the cloth full enough. Ayaan set the bottle down and screwed the lid on it.

Natasha carefully twisted the top of the cloth shut and moved to place the tip in the baby's mouth.

The baby closed his mouth and sucked on the cloth, swallowing the small amounts of milk he drew from it. The baby stilled in her arms, content to eat and be held.

"Thank you," Ayaan whispered.

Natasha gave the girl a tentative smile, "Saalim is back, you should get something to drink."

Ayaan scurried away and joined the other children accepting water from Saalim and his helper.

Natasha cradled the baby and watched the children. She was alert, ready for a threat to appear at any moment.

Forty minutes—and another trip to the river—later, Clint returned from his search for food. He smiled at the kids as he dropped a large, cloth-covered package at their feet, "Does anyone know how to cook ostrich?"

The girls rolled their eyes and stepped forward, unwrapping the fresh meat and going to work, cutting it into pieces and putting them on sticks to roast over the fire.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Clint as he approached her. She was still seated with the now sleeping baby in her arms.

He shrugged, "It was the first thing I found that I knew was edible. Tomorrow, we'll have them help us find some vegetation we can carry more easily. I see you've made a new friend."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and shifted the baby in her arms, "He was hungry."

"We don't have any way to feed him," Clint said with a frown.

"I took care of it," Natasha smirked.

Clint opened his mouth before closing it and shaking his head, "How?"

"Powdered milk."

"Right, I forgot we had that. It's nasty, but I take it he drank it?"

Natasha nodded, "I used the old jerky cloth as a bottle, so we can just keep using that until we get them somewhere safe."

"I've got three ostrich eggs for breakfast," Clint told her. "We'll hopefully reach the refugee camp in three days. Until then, we'll survive on the leftover ostrich meat and whatever else we can find."

"I don't think either of us realized how much of a responsibility it would be to get these kids to safety," Natasha murmured.

Clint shook his head, "No, we didn't. But we're not leaving them."

She was taken aback by his harsh tone, "I wasn't suggesting we should or would. I was just making an observation. Anyway, it seems to me that they may help us more than we help them. They know this terrain."

At that moment, Ayaan approached and offered out a stick of ostrich meat to the two adults, "It's ready."

"Thank you, Ayaan," Clint told her and accepted the meat. He helped his partner to her feet and they moved towards the fire together. Natasha continued to hold the baby as she ate.

The children loosened up as they ate, teasing each other and telling stories to Clint and Natasha.

Saalim was the one who brought up their loss, "Would you allow us to pray for our dead?"

"Of course," Clint told the boy. "We'll need to put the fire out soon, but do what you need to do."

Saalim nodded solemnly and beckoned the children to join him around the fire. They knelt behind him and placed their hands and heads on the ground as Saalim began to pray.

Clint and Natasha stood to the side, watching. "Are you religious?" Clint asked her.

Natasha shook her head, "I have trouble believing in a god who would allow so much suffering. You?"

"I never understood how god could have killed my mother and left my brother and I alone," Clint muttered. "After the orphanage, well it was easy to just not believe."

"I was Russian Orthodox," Natasha told him conversationally. "The Red Room stopped us from going to services, except to learn how the masses believed. They taught that it was foolish to believe that words would change anything. We were in charge of our own lives."

Clint's lips twitched at the trace of irony in her voice, "Well now you really are."

Natasha smiled sadly and turned back to the scene in front of them.

* * *

After the evening before, the children had fallen asleep easily. Luckily, the infant slept through the night and the assassins even managed to get some sleep—each taking a turn at keeping watch. At dawn, Natasha began waking the children while Clint went to work cooking up the eggs he had with him. They decided it would be best to feed them in the morning and at night and keep moving during the day. Saalim and his companion refilled all of the waters before they left.

The kids were good sports as they tramped across the land and towards the fifty acres of woodland in which the cache was hidden. Phil had warned them that he wouldn't be able to see them once they entered the trees. The satellites he had access to were unable to penetrate the trees enough.

The sun was starting to dip in the sky when Clint and Natasha stopped the group. They had reached the edge of the trees. Turning to the children, Clint spoke sternly, "We're going to get rid of the weapons that Al-Shabaab has hidden here. You need to stay quiet and do exactly what we tell you. Otherwise, you will need to stay here."

The kids nodded solemnly, understanding the seriousness of his words. They wouldn't do anything to risk losing the support of the assassins.

"To start, is there anything we could eat in the trees?" Natasha asked. She hoped for a fruit or something that the children could carry should they need to remain longer than planned.

Looking around, the children examined the trees and vegetation on the ground.

"Here," called one of the little girls. She pointed up into a tree with a wide grin when Saalim arrived next to her.

"She is right," he announced. "There are mangoes we can take."

Without further explanation, Saalim climbed into the tree and began knocking down some of the fruit. The children waited impatiently as the fruit fell, and once Saalim began climbing down they rushed forward to gather it. Luckily, it seemed most of the fruit was still intact. What wasn't, the children ate immediately.

"Good," Natasha told them. "Hold onto some of that so you can have some tomorrow."

The children nodded and went to work stowing the fruit in the bags they had with them.

"Let's go," Clint commanded once they were finished. The children formed into a small group between the two assassins. Clint led with his bow drawn while Natasha brought up the rear, keeping her eyes alert for any sign of trouble.

When Clint came to a stop, they were well into the trees. The children gazed around in fear, sensing the tension rolling off the two adults.

"You all must stay here. If we are not back by sunset, you need to leave the forest and wait until morning. In the morning, head to the camp," Clint instructed softly.

The children started to protest, asking if they would come back, begging them to promise they would.

"Hush," Natasha scolded. "We will come back if we can, but it is better to have a plan in case things go wrong. You will do as we say."

Saalim stepped forward, "I promise we shall leave if you are not back by sunset."

With a final nod, Clint and Natasha disappeared into the trees, leaving the children standing in a small clearing.

"It's not much farther," Clint told Natasha once they were out of sight.

It seemed the air had grown thicker the closer they got to the weapons cache. They were both wondering if they would encounter resistance. It seemed unlikely that Al-Shabaab would leave it unguarded, but then again, who was there to take it from them?

The trees fell silent as the pressed forward. Worried, Natasha reached out and put a hand on Clint's arm. He froze as she stepped up to face him, "Something's wrong."

Looking around, Clint nodded, "It's too quiet. There are other people here."

Natasha nodded, "Enough to scare off all the animals."

"We have to keep going."

Without arguing, Natasha followed him. Every sense was on high alert as they traversed the last bit of trees until they came up the clearing. A crude hut sat in the middle. Around it, piles of boxes were covered in camouflage nets and blankets. It was evident this cache held a large amount of the militants' supply.

Clint let out a slow breath as he took in the image in front of him, grateful they'd stopped while still in the tree line. Six guards lounged near some of the crates, crowded around what seemed to be a game of cards. There seemed to be several pairs of men patrolling the edge of the clearing, each relatively alert as they studied the trees around them. Four more guards walked out of the hut laughing.

"I count twenty," Natasha breathed beside him.

Clint nodded, "I'm assuming there are more we can't see and probably some not here but who will be when we make our move."

"These are bad odds just for us," Natasha muttered. "We have to worry about the kids too…"

"We could destroy the cache easily," Clint told her. "Cause a distraction, lay a few charges and we're done. But it wouldn't kill all of them and some of them would definitely come after us. We can't risk leading them to the kids and the refugee camp."

"What are we going to do?" Natasha asked. She didn't like their options anymore than he did. "We could send the kids along and wait a day or two before we do anything?"

"We're not leaving them," Clint stated.

"Okay," Natasha agreed. "Then we have to switch our priorities for the moment. They aren't actively using this cache I don't think. They're just guarding it from what I see here, so we get the kids to the camp then come back and take care of it."

"Phil won't like it," Clint pointed out.

Natasha shrugged, "Phil can get over it."

The two backed up through the forest, freezing when they heard voices near them speaking rapid Somali. It was too muffled to discern what they were saying, but the assassins hoped the kids hadn't been discovered. After that, they picked up their pace to get back to the group of children, knowing that they'd made the right choice in not attacking the cache, especially since more men had been out of sight.

The children appeared from behind a couple of trees when the assassins returned to the spot. They looked relieved to see the adults, with two of the younger ones running up to hug them.

"Did you do what you needed to?" Saalim asked.

Clint shook his head, "We found out some knew information, so we've decided to change our plans. We're taking all of you to the camp before we do anything here."

"But the Al-Shabaab will hurt more people," Saalim protested. "You do not need to accompany us if it keeps you from doing your work."

It was Natasha's turn to shake her head, "What they're doing here won't change anything in the next few days. We have time to get you to the camp."

* * *

That night, Natasha watched as Ayaan took charge of the children and got them started on a fire and reheating the ostrich meat they had. She also found rocks on which they could cook the mango in the fire. Saalim once again went for water and upon his return the group ate. Instead of going straight to bed, the children asked for Clint and Natasha to tell them stories about their homes. Uncertain of what to tell them, Natasha looked over at Clint. The man dropped to the ground and invited the children to sit around him.

"Well, Natasha and I come from two very different places," he explained to the kids. "But I'll tell you about how I grew up. My brother and I ran away to join a traveling circus. We traveled all over with the people and animals, performing tricks for the people who wanted to see them."

The children listened with rapt attention, hanging onto his every word. Natasha found herself studying him as he talked, allowing the toddler of the group to climb into his lap during the stories. Saalim was watching him closely and even imitating his posture.

 _Clint would be so good with kids_ , Natasha thought. The idea sent a pang through her chest, knowing that he would never have children with her and probably never with another woman because of the risks their job involved. But she could see in his eyes that these children were enchanting Clint. She worried what would happen when they had to leave.

"What about Natasha?" Ayaan asked after Clint finished telling about the act he performed at the circus.

Natasha felt like a deer in headlights as the group turned to look at her. Clint gave her an encouraging smile and she forced herself to relax and talk, "Where I come from, it is very cold for most of the year. Have you ever seen snow?"

The children shook their heads, unfamiliar with the word.

"Well, snow is frozen water that falls from the sky, but usually very gently. It floats down to the earth in flakes. When I was a child, I liked to watch as it fell outside. The beautiful white flakes looked like magic to me. And even though it was very cold outside, I was warm inside my house with my mother and father," Natasha explained. She sent Clint a pleading look as she finished speaking, hoping he wouldn't make her continue. She didn't have many happy experiences to draw from.

"I think it's time for bed," Clint announced to the group when he saw Natasha's desire for help.

The children groaned, but obediently moved to lie down and go to sleep. Ayaan curled up next to her brother, promising she'd ask the adults if she needed any help.

Once all of the children were asleep, Clint walked over to Natasha, "Was that true?"

Natasha shrugged, "I can remember it, but that's all I remember of those instances. It was warm inside, pretty and cold outside, and my parents were with me."

Clint pulled Natasha into a hug, as much for himself as for her. "We're going to be okay," he said.

"Yes," Natasha promised. It hadn't been a question, but she felt that he needed her reassurance that things would work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Natasha felt Clint stiffen beside her. She turned to watch him as his eyes scanned the trees around them. Frowning, Natasha copied his motions. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
> 
> A loud crack echoed through the woods and one of the African Union soldiers fell to the ground.
> 
> “Get down,” Clint commanded, rushing towards the refugees who had started to panic.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Accolade_Bespoke and 2sassyformyowngood for commenting! (2sassyformyowngood, I did reply to your question the other day, you can go look at the comments (page 4 I think) to see the response if it wasn't sent to you.)

_Somewhere in Afghanistan—2002_

The dust rising in the wind made Clint staring to see the cluster of buildings in front of the team. If their maps were right, and if they hadn't veered too far off course, the buildings belonged to a small Afghani settlement that was friendly to US soldiers. Then again, they could have been slightly off or something could have changed since their last contact and they'd be walking into a hostile village.

With the way the sand was starting to fly in the wind, Clint didn't really care about the allegiance of the settlement. Whether it was as an ally or as a prisoner, he just wanted to be inside when the sandstorm hit. If there was one thing he truly hated about Afghanistan, it was the sandstorms.

Nicholas Glenmore, the other trained sniper on the team, slowed down to walk beside Clint. "What do you think? Are they going to let us stay?"

Clint shrugged. "I don't really care if they agree or not. We're going to stay anyway."

Glenmore chuckled, "I like the way you think, kid."

Clint ignored the memories of the circus that threatened to surface at being called "kid."

They reached the settlement and the Captain led the way over to the main building. He nodded for Clint to come stand beside him and turned to the other men. "Remember, we are guests. We will be respectful and we will obey  _all_  of our hosts' rules. Most importantly, we will be peaceful, so don't let me see those guns pointed at anyone."

The men nodded, used to the speech whenever they asked Afghanis for shelter.

"Barton, you're the translator," the man finished with a nod to Clint.

"Yes sir," Clint said. He'd learned that he had an ear for languages since joining the Army. He'd become passable in both Dari and Pashto during his first two months in the country. Since then, he'd improved his skills and worked to pick up important phrases and words in some of the regional languages they encountered. It had made him invaluable to the Captain of his group.

The Captain pushed the door open to the building and moved inside with an easy smile on his face. Clint followed a step behind, hands resting on the gun attached to his vest. He wasn't quite as trusting as the Captain.

Glenmore followed the two into the building, leaning forward to whisper in Clint's ear, "Don't let them walk all over us. Make them give us what we deserve for protecting their pathetic country."

Clint frowned at the threat in his tone and kept silent.

* * *

_Rural Somalia—2009_

The assassins couldn't help but keep looking over their shoulders as they travelled across Somalia. The children remained perfectly behaved and moved faster than normal, in part because they could sense the tension coming from the adults. Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. She knew they weren't being followed (they'd checked several times). But it still felt like someone was watching. The question was who? And for what purpose?

Entering woodland again made Clint and Natasha more nervous. There were too many places for an unseen assailant to hide, one of the children could end up getting lost, and of course, there was a better chance they would get turned around and end up lost among the trees. An hour later, a snapping branch broke through the silence of the trees.

Clint and Natasha froze, listening intently for whatever was coming towards them. Without a word, they pushed the children behind a tree and moved to stand in front of them. This way, they could fight without having to worry too much about the kids. They'd had no word from Phil since that morning, and therefore had no way of knowing if there were enemy soldiers in the area.

Another crack echoed around them. Clint nocked an arrow silently while Natasha drew her guns.

A man in green camouflage stepped into view. The vibrant green armband had "AU" inscribed on it. Immediately, Clint and Natasha relaxed a bit. It wasn't Al-Shabaab.

"Who are you?" the man demanded in Arabic, leveling his gun at them.

Clint and Natasha lowered their own weapons.

"We work for SHIELD," Clint told them man. "We're here to help. There are eight children with us from a village not far from here. They were on their way to a refugee camp, we've just decided to make sure they get there."

The man watched them suspiciously before lowering his gun and nodding, "There are more of my men behind me, also escorting refugees. These children are welcome to join us, as are you."

"Thank you," Clint said. He stepped away from the kids and gestured for Natasha to put her guns away.

The group stood in tense silence for a few minutes before the soldier's fellows arrived. Three more soldiers came into the clearing with a group of fifteen or so refugees. The refugees immediately descended upon the children, examining them for signs of abuse and asking them their story. A mother with three children clucked at Ayaan and took her brother, placing the baby against her breast and allowing him to feed. Ayaan stayed close to her brother.

Clint and Natasha hovered near the African Union agents, eavesdropping on their conversation. It sounded like they were close to the camp. The soldiers were having a heated debate about the merits of pushing through the night or waiting until the morning to reach the camp. Three of the four wanted to keep going, but the other—apparently the commander—thought it best to wait out the night, especially with the kids added to the group.

"They need to rest," argued the commander. "We will lose them in the night as they fall to the ground to sleep or wander away looking for water."

Natasha felt Clint stiffen beside her. She turned to watch him as his eyes scanned the trees around them. Frowning, Natasha copied his motions. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

A loud crack echoed through the woods and one of the African Union soldiers fell to the ground.

"Get down," Clint commanded, rushing towards the refugees who had started to panic. Half of them had sprinted away from the group. The others were grabbing children and family members and freezing in plain sight. "Get to cover!"

Clint roughly shoved a few of the refugees towards the larger trees.

Natasha was trying to locate the shooter when more bullets started to rain down on the group. It seemed like they were coming from every direction.

Moving carefully, between bursts of gunfire, Natasha managed to make her way to the outskirts of the skirmish. The soldiers had recovered from their surprise and were returning fire. Sneaking around the trees, Natasha finally caught sight of one of the assailants. The noise from his gun drowned out her footsteps as she approached.

Natasha slid up behind the man and pointed her gun at him. He squeezed the trigger again, unaware of the woman behind him. The crack from Natasha's gun was muffled from where it dug into the back of his skull. Blood and brain matter splattered against the tree he'd been using as cover.

Satisfied, Natasha stalked away. Her sure steps carried her over to the next origin area of gunfire. In front of her, it seemed like Clint and the soldiers had managed to get the refugees to relative safety and even taken out one of the gunmen. Natasha expected to find an arrow in the body.

Another man went down to Natasha, the exact same way as the first. Down three men, the Al-Shabaab attack dwindled. No one was in any real danger from the sporadic, inaccurate fire that covered the retreat.

Natasha slipped back to the group, surveying Clint for any signs of injury. He returned her gaze and gave her a reassuring nod. They were both fine. The assassins then moved to the bodies on the ground. It appeared that ten of the group had been killed plus the soldier.

Pain lanced through Natasha's heart when she saw two of the kids they'd travelled with among the dead. Six more refugees were injured, among them Saalim and Ayaan. It appeared that Ayaan had been grazed as she protected her brother. The woman who'd taken the baby initially worried over Ayaan, treating her wound methodically. Clint knelt over Saalim, one arm cradling the boy as the other pressed down against the red stain on his front.

"It's going to be okay," Clint told the boy. "We'll get you out of here."

"Allah calls me," Saalim said haltingly. "It is time for me to leave this world."

"Don't say things like that," Clint chastised. He looked up at Natasha, hopelessness reflected in his eyes.

Saalim smiled before coughing hard. Red flecks coated his chin when he'd stopped coughing, "Please—make sure—the children get—to—the—camp. Keep them safe."

"Of course," Natasha told the boy, moving to kneel beside him. "You've been so brave."

"Goodbye, my friends," Saalim whispered.

His breath slowed to a stop. Clint laid the boy gently on the ground and closed his eyes.

"What did we do to these kids?" he asked Natasha.

"We gave them hope," she told him. "As someone who grew up without hope, let me tell you, that's worth a hell of a lot more than life.

"They wouldn't have been here if we hadn't brought them," Clint muttered.

Natasha shook her head, "Maybe not. But they could have perished long before this without us. And not all of them are dead. We owe it to Saalim to make sure the others get to the camp safely."

Clint took a ragged breath. He nodded, "Okay. Let's do it."

Natasha turned to the soldiers who had managed to create some semblance of order. The dead would be left where they were. The smallest and weakest were carried by the others. They were marching to the camp tonight, there would be no more delays.

The assassins wordlessly took point, taking turns ranging farther away from the group in search of threat and staying close by. Fortunately, the night passed uneventfully.

As dawn broke, a beautiful red light bathed the landscape. The group was exhausted. Natasha called for a rest, supervising as the water was passed around.

"We're almost there," breathed one of the adult refugees. "Soon, we will be safe."

With renewed vigor, the group continued on. They were determined to reach the camp within the hour. Clint and Natasha felt no need to slow them down. Already, they'd delayed too long in destroying the cache. They would have to backtrack for two days to reach the spot again. And there was every chance that the weapons were already being taken and used. Anxiety spurred the assassins forward.

Red Cross workers met them at the border of the camp, surprised to find two strangely clad and armed Americans in the company of Somali refugees and African Union soldiers. Luckily, Clint and Natasha were able to extricate themselves after only a few minutes of pleasantries and begin their journey back.

"Phil," Clint called in once they were several miles from the camp.

"Don't tell me you're bringing home another stray?" Phil asked drily on the other end of the line.

Clint gave a half smile and shook his head, "No, just calling to tell you we're en route to the cache. Should be there by tomorrow assuming no more ambushes or anything."

"Finally," Phil said. "I'll keep you informed of troop movements. Let me know when you get there."

* * *

Getting back to the cache took significantly less time with just Clint and Natasha. They only stopped for a few hours at a time, enough for one person to sleep before they were on their way again. Arriving at the weapons cache, they both let out sighs of relief. Everything seemed to be the same. Still piles upon piles of crates, twenty or so guards at the site.

Smirking devilishly at each other, the two dropped away from the cache and mapped out their strategy.

"We need a distraction," Clint said.

Natasha nodded, "I could always just walk in. Something tells me that would get their attention."

"Let's call that Plan B. I don't want you in their alone while I'm setting charges. Something tells me these men won't take to well to a woman dressed like you fighting them." Clint replied.

Natasha shrugged, "Can't be as bad as some other things I've had."

"Nevertheless, let's leave that as our backup. I'm thinking a nice explosive arrow might do the trick, set it off on the far side of the cache. The explosion should be big enough to take out a few guys and crates and would definitely get their attention. While they're busy, we run through and set charges. Phil supplied us with more than enough C4, so it should be easy to destroy it."

"Okay," Natasha nodded. "Do we move at night or day?"

"Just before dawn," Clint decided after a moment of thought. "The shadows will help hide us, but it won't be too easy to spot us in the light from the explosion."

Natasha moved to sit against the base of a tree, "I'm going to get some sleep then."

Clint sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her. Natasha pressed herself closer, resting her head on his shoulder and allowing her eyes to droop. Rough fingers twined in her hair, twisting the curls around. Clint looked up at the sky as stars popped into view above him. The lights reminded him of nights spent outside at Carson's staring up at the stars. He'd wanted to travel the world then, wanted to see all of earth and then go see all of space. He'd seen earth, he realized with a wry smile. Maybe the stars were next.

* * *

Long shadows made the path back to the cache tricky for the assassins. Clouds had rolled in overnight, leaving the light from the moon and stars almost nonexistent. The sky had begun to lighten though, creating a dim, difficult to see setting for them.

At the edge of the cache, Clint slipped away and circled to the area from which they'd decided he would take his shot. Natasha slunk among the crates and began applying their prepared bundles of C4 and receivers. Soldiers snored on the other side of the crates. Her movements were slow, precise, silent. A breath of wind brushed against her neck and the man nearest her stopped snoring.

Natasha froze. A moment later, the man's snores had returned and Natasha allowed herself to relax.

A sudden explosion broke the relative silence that enveloped the area. Natasha ducked down and held still as the soldiers around her woke and began grabbing weapons. In a daze, half-asleep, they sprinted through the cache, tripping over boxes and nearly running into trees. Their only thought was to discover the source of the explosion and bright fire.

Once she was alone again, Natasha stood up and moved to another area to lay her charges. She worked quickly, less worried about making noise. It wouldn't be long until the soldiers realized there was really nothing to the event and returned to their positions.

Working in towards the center of the cache, Natasha started to tense. Her Black Widow instincts took over and she found herself avoiding areas where she couldn't see exactly what and whom waited for her. There was no way that blast had called every soldier to it. Some would have ignored it, others slept through it, and a few perhaps remained at their posts.

Just as she reached the hut in the center, a shadow clipped across the only bit of open space and joined her. It was Clint. He gave her a cursory nod and approached the hut, laying a couple of charges around the base.

"You done?" he asked Natasha quietly as he stopped beside the crates she was rigging.

She nodded, "I got everywhere I was willing to venture. Some places were too dark for me to risk stumbling upon someone.

Clint nodded, "I think we won't have too much trouble wiping this place out."

"Let's go," Natasha commanded and the two assassins hurried out of the cache.

Upon returning to the tree in which they'd stashed their bags, the assassins faced each other.

"Call Phil," Natasha told Clint as she pulled out the detonator. "I'll get this ready."

"Phil," Clint said as the line connected. "We're about to blow it. Can you get a satellite on it?"

"I've got a view, it's pretty blurry but I should be able to tell if it gets completely destroyed," Phil replied. "By the way, you should be ready to move in case you accidentally start a forest fire."

"We're ready to go as soon as we've got confirmation on success."

Clint nodded at Natasha. She gave him a small smile, nearly feral, and pushed the button on the detonator.

The explosions lit up the sky. It appeared as though sun had risen early. The sound reached them a fraction of a second later. Loud booms and thuds as the C4 ignited. Gunpowder popped and crackled. Flames roared out of the central area.

"We've got confirmation of explosion," Phil informed the agents. "But there's too much light and smoke to see if it was successfully at the moment."

"Copy," Natasha said. "We'll hold our positions until confirmation."

The assassins stood silent as they watched the evidence of their attack brighten the dawn as the smoke blotted out the stars. Around them, the trees had fallen silent. Birds flew overhead, headed far away from the cache.

"The cache is gone," Phil said a few minutes later. "Return to Mogadishu. We'll get on a jet immediately and head home."

"On our way," Clint told the man.

"See you in a few days."

* * *

_SHIELD Plane, Somewhere Above Africa—2009_

Phil stood in the cockpit of the SHIELD plane as they headed back to the States. The hum of the plane had drawn his agents into sleep soon after they'd finished briefing. Luckily, the pilot seemed disinterested in his passengers. He focused on flying the plane and had only given an appraising glance to the trio that entered. Therefore, Clint and Natasha weren't really in any danger of being found out. The two agents in question were curled up next to each other in the back of the plane. They'd been emotionally and physically exhausted after over two weeks spent traipsing through rural Somalia.

Phil's phone buzzed dragging him out of his thoughts. He nodded at the pilot and stood up to take the call, "Coulson."

"It's Hill. I just read your report and briefing of Somalia," the woman on the other end said curtly.

"Is there a problem?" Phil asked.

Maria's breath hissed across the line, "You're agents' judgment was severely compromised on this mission."

"Why do you say that?" the man continued mildly. He knew it would annoy Maria more than anything else.

"They put aside their mission objectives in favor of escorting refugees," she said.

Phil sighed, "Hill, why are you calling me? This could wait until we were back on base. Does Fury have a problem with the report? Does the Council?"

"Don't you dismiss me," Maria threatened. "And I was calling to tell you to bring your agents into briefing when you get back."

"Why?" Phil demanded. "So you can yell at them about their successful mission?"

He could practically see her eyes roll in response.

"No," Maria said. "Because they've got a new mission. I know it's short notice, but we need them on this."

"It needs to wait."

"It can't."

"They've just spent more than two weeks roughing it in the Somali wilderness," Phil snarled. "I think they deserve a break."

"It's Council mandated," she said. "And anyway, something tells me Hawkeye will want in on this one."

"Fine," Phil snapped the phone shut and looked over at the sleeping agents. They still had several hours of flight time left, he wouldn't wake them yet.

* * *

Phil had fallen asleep not long after the call from Hill. He woke a couple of hours before they were due to land at the New York SHIELD base. After chatting with the stoic pilot for a while, he decided it was time to wake his agents. They'd managed to sleep almost the entire flight back to the states, which was hopefully a good omen for the next few days.

"Barton, Romanoff," Phil said as he walked over to where they lay curled up. He stayed a few feet away, not willing to risk injury should they wake up suddenly. "Time to get up."

Clint opened his eyes and looked up at his handler, "We there?"

"An hour out," Phil replied. "You better get Romanoff up. I don't think I want to be the one who does it."

Clint shrugged and pressed his lips to Natasha's forehead, "Tasha, we gotta get up."

Natasha blinked awake slower than Phil had ever seen her wake up. She gave Clint a small, sleepy smile before sitting up and stretching. By the time she looked at Phil, she was cool and indifferent.

Phil smirked at her, "Now that you're both awake, I've got news."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, Clint frowned.

"What kind of news?" Clint finally asked.

"Depends on your point of view?" Phil offered. He sighed before continuing, "Hill called a few hours ago. As soon as we land, we're going into briefing for another mission. I don't have any details but was told that you wouldn't want to sit this one out." His last words were directed at Hawkeye.

"Intriguing," Clint said.

"I should also warn you, Hill thinks your judgment was compromised on the last mission because of the refugees. I'm backing you guys on this one, but just be ready for her to come at you," Phil told them.

"She's not wrong," Natasha muttered. "But it was the right thing to do."

Phil nodded, "Get cleaned up. We're landing soon."

The trio was standing and ready to disembark the moment the plane touched down on the tarmac. Phil hated the idea of walking into this briefing completely unaware of what would happen, especially when it involved something Clint would want to be part of… The assassins just wanted the briefing to be over quickly so they could hopefully sleep in a bed for the night. None of the agents thought the briefing would be easy though.

"Welcome back," Fury said when they entered the briefing room. He was the first person they'd seen since getting off the jet. The early hours of the morning had cleared out the base it seemed.

"Good to be back," Clint replied, setting his bags on the floor and kicking his feet onto the table. "Any chance we could delay this until the morning? I'd like to sleep in a bed."

Fury didn't respond, instead he turned to Maria, who was seated at the opposite end of the table, "Before we get started, Hill, what were the concerns you wanted to voice?"

Maria cleared her throat and eyed the assassins seated at the table, "I believe that Agents Barton and Romanoff were compromised on this last mission. They defied the parameters of their mission in favor of leading children around. As a result, mission success was delayed until it was almost too late."

Fury nodded, "Barton, Romanoff, any response?"

A small nod from Clint gave Natasha permission to speak for both of them as they faced their superiors. She straightened and began speaking, "Yes, Agent Barton and I decided to postpone our attack on the weapons cache in favor of helping refugees—children—reach safety. You put us into a war zone and expected us to what, ignore any refugees we stumbled upon? They were children who'd watched their entire village be slaughtered. We had a moral obligation to them. SHIELD had an obligation."

Hill bristled.

"Agents Romanoff and Barton made the correct call," Phil said firmly.

Hill glared, "It doesn't excuse them disobeying orders."

Fury sighed, "I've heard enough. While Barton and Romanoff disobeyed orders, they did the right thing in this situation. The principles SHIELD stands on require that we protect the innocent and oppressed. However, Barton, Romanoff, do not make a habit of disobeying orders."

Clint and Natasha nodded obediently.

"Now, let's discuss this new assignment," Fury continued.

Hill cleared her throat and stood. She handed out files to the four agents sitting around the table.

"As you're all well aware, the Taliban have continued to cause problems in Afghanistan. The United States is actively involved in military action there," Hill said.

Clint snorted, "I served there, I've got a pretty decent grasp on the situation."

"We're aware of your service record," Hill continued. "That's part of why you were chosen for this mission. You served alongside a Sergeant Nicholas Glenmore, correct?"

Clint's face darkened, "I did. I turned him in as a traitor and as a result got arrested because of my age. He fled and apparently joined up with the Taliban. No one has heard from him since."

"He's resurfaced," Fury announced bluntly.

Phil took a deep breath, Natasha glanced at her partner, Clint's face managed to harden even further.

Clint's voice was deadly serious as spoke, "When do we leave?"

"Six hours," Hill answered. "We'll finish this briefing and then you're free to get some rest or something."

"Glenmore has reappeared and is targeting American military bases, refugee and aid convoys, and government officials. He's been inordinately successful and has shown no remorse. You're job will be to find him, eliminate him, and eliminate the men he's working with and training," Fury interrupted. "I expect you understand that this is very important. The quicker the better, but you need to be careful."

Natasha followed Clint out of the briefing room. She opened her mouth to ask how he was doing but stopped when she saw the anger flooding his face.

"I'll see you later," Clint told her curtly. His eyes begged her to accept his excuse.

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

Clint disappeared down the hallway, leaving his partner to return to their quarters alone.

* * *

The clock on the wall ticked noisily. Natasha looked up again and sighed. In the hour since she'd parted ways with Clint, she'd showered, eaten, and packed or the new mission. After reading through the mission file, she'd pulled out her book, determined to read for a while. The incessant ticking of the clock and lack of Clint kept pulling her from the story. She slid a bookmark into the pages and stood.

The halls of SHIELD were empty. Following a gut instinct, she headed to the gym. Clint was beating on a punching bag with sweat dripping from his forehead. Natasha's heart broke a bit at the sight. Darkness seemed to roll off of him in waves.

"I'm fine," Clint snarled.

"I can tell," Natasha said lightly, stepping into the room.

Clint turned to face her, "Sorry, I thought you were Phil. The point stands though, I don't want to talk."

"That's fine," Natasha said moving to stand next to him. "Have you eaten?"

Clint nodded, "A bit."

"Clearly you haven't showered," she remarked, wrinkling her nose.

He frowned, "No point, I was working out."

"Hmmm…" Natasha hummed. She remained silent for a moment. "You should shower and then try to get some sleep."

Clint turned away with a huff and hit the bag hard, "I'm not tired."

"Bullshit."

He looked at her, clearly annoyed. His entire body was tense, his shoulders hunched.

"I'm exhausted and I'm pretty sure you got as much or less sleep than me in the last few days," Natasha explained. She hesitated before speaking again. "You need to get some sleep, we both do. And knowing you're here, beating yourself up about stuff that happened years ago is making it impossible for me to sleep."

"Sorry," he grunted.

She sighed and moved to stand behind the bag, bracing it for him as he continued to pummel it.

"Shit happened in Afghanistan," Clint finally said, pausing in his activity for a while. "I mean, nothing to compared to the shit we've gone through, but still, it sucked."

Natasha nodded in understanding. "Was there anything good there?"

Clint frowned for a moment and walked away from the bag to grab his water bottle. "It's where I learned that I was pretty good at languages. And I got to see some pretty cool Persian ruins one day in the desert."

"See," Natasha said with a half-smile. "It wasn't all bad."

Clint's eyes darkened. "No, but it wasn't all good. I trusted Glenmore, thought he was a bit intense and angry at times, but trusted him to be a decent human being, right up until I caught him talking to suspected Taliban members. Two days later, we walked into an ambush. I didn't catch the IED, and I never told anyone my suspicions. Their deaths are on me."

Natasha shook her head and moved to stand in front of Clint. She reached up and caught his chin, directing his gaze from the floor to her eyes. "That's not on you. It's on that son of a bitch for turning against his fellow soldiers. It's on the terrorist that planted the IED. You keep reminding me that I can't blame myself for all of the deaths I've seen. The same goes for you."

Clint opened his mouth to respond.

Natasha held up her hand to stop him, "Don't respond. Just think about it. I'm going to bed, and hoping that you'll join me soon. Take a shower and relax. We'll make it right."

With a final smile, Natasha stalked out of the gym. She headed back to their quarters and moved into Clint's room. She had no idea if she'd succeeded in getting him to leave the gym or not, she hoped he would at least come in and sleep for a bit. She curled up in the bed with her book, hoping to read until her mind turned off.

A few minutes later, Clint was stalking into the room, hair still dripping from his shower. His eyes were dark as he drank in the sight of Natasha on the bed. She gave him a seductive smirk and set her book aside.

"Natasha," he practically growled, hesitating at the end of the bed.

Realizing he needed an answer, she sat up and nodded, "Yes."

Clint was on the bed a moment later, shoving her back as his mouth fused to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: A bucket of cold water splashed across Clint’s face. He jerked upright and shook his head to get rid of the water. His eyes were wild as they took in the room around him, widening when he caught a glimpse of Natasha tied to a chair across from him. She looked calm despite the bruise blossoming on her temple. Next to her stood Nicholas Glenmore, smirking.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC TORTURE SCENES. (In fact, most of this chapter is made up of torture scenes.)
> 
> Thank you to Fury_Natalia, Accolade_Bespoke, and Angie_Martinelli for commenting!

_Somewhere, Europe—2003_

Clint lay on the roof, peering through the scope of his rifle. He'd been hired by the woman, Josephine Haversham, below to take out her estranged husband so she didn't have to settle during the divorce. Of course, she'd wanted to meet with him before delivering her final payment to determine if he was "up to the task." Clint had taken it upon himself to check her out beforehand. Based on what he could tell about the woman, she was a ruthless businesswoman and more than capable of putting out a hit on her own husband. He didn't expect much more from her than a stern demand that he keep quiet.

Clint placed his rifle into its case and scrambled down the fire escape. He stashed the weapon around the corner from Haversham's building and checked that his concealed knives and guns. He was ready. The door opened a moment after his fist made contact with it, revealing a tall, well-muscled man in a suit.

"You Hawkeye?" he asked.

Clint squared his shoulders and glared up at the man. "Yeah, I want my money."

The man grunted and stepped aside, allowing the young assassin to pass through the doors.

Clint followed him up the grand staircase and into the office, the same room he'd observed Haversham in from the roof. The woman glanced up for a moment from the papers on her desk before turning back to them and ignoring the man standing in front of her.

Clint forced himself not to fidget. Would it kill her to get an extra chair? he wondered.

Finally, Haversham set aside the file and looked up at him. She cocked her head to one side. "You know, Hawkeye, I expected more."

He rolled his eyes and stayed silent.

"As I'm sure you're aware, I can't have word getting out that my husband died on my orders," she continued. "You'll understand that I don't trust you to keep your mouth shut."

"My clients pay me for my services and my ability to keep my mouth shut about who hired me," Clint told her, mind racing as he tried to figure out her play.

"I'm sure," Haversham demured. She nodded to the guard standing next to the door, who grabbed Clint by his arms and held him in place while she stood. Haversham walked around the desk and examined Clint. "Make sure he isn't going to talk."

Clint opened his mouth to respond when he felt a sharp jab in the side of his neck. Unconsciousness surged forward and claimed him.

* * *

_Somewhere in Afghanistan—2009_

A bucket of cold water splashed across Clint's face. He jerked upright and shook his head to get rid of the water. His eyes were wild as they took in the room around him, widening when he caught a glimpse of Natasha tied to a chair across from him. She looked calm despite the bruise blossoming on her temple. Next to her stood Nicholas Glenmore, smirking.

Clint strained against the ropes holding him to the chair. Unable to budge, he sank back, fury and adrenaline keeping his body tense. Glenmore leered at him. It was the same smile as seven years ago when Clint had brought treason charges against him. His mind raced as he tried to remember the circumstances of their capture earlier.

They'd landed at a NATO military base a couple of days before and been given bunks with the soldiers. It hadn't taken long to get a lock on Glenmore—the soldiers had done a wonderful job of keeping track of insurgents in the area. Clint and Natasha had gone out to observe Glenmore…

Clint struggled to remember.

* * *

_A few hours earlier_ …

The assassins sat on the dunes overlooking the abandoned city below. The only signs of movement came from grains of sand blowing across the rooftops. NATO forces had reported squatters in some of the buildings and a clearly organized group—including Glenmore—using a couple as headquarters.

"We've got movement," Natasha reported, peering down through the binoculars in her hands. She—like Clint—was dressed in the US desert camouflage uniform. Her hair was hidden beneath a baseball cap of the same pattern. They both wore tinted sunglasses as protection against the glare. Already, Clint could feel the back of his neck starting to sunburn.

He turned his attention to the ruins below and watched as Nicholas Glenmore had the audacity to wander around, with absolutely no cover. The man wasn't even checking for signs of enemies watching. Was he really that arrogant? Or was it just stupidity? The man had to know there were active NATO troops in the area. Clint frowned, "It's like he wants to be seen."

Natasha continued to survey the ground. "We could get him right now. Easy shot and we're done."

"Something's not right," Clint murmured. He turned his attention away from the man and checked the rest of the buildings. Still motionless. His eyes moved to scan the area around the town, looking for a sign of anything out of the ordinary.

"Hawkeye?" Natasha asked, trying to figure out what was bothering her partner.

He shook his head, "It's a gut feeling. Glenmore isn't this sloppy, what's the catch?"

A low hum was the only noise they got before a canister landed at their feet and burst open, spewing gas at them, choking their airways and obstructing the visibility. Clint and Natasha each took a deep breath and pushed to their feet. They took off running, heading back towards their ride and the relative safety of the NATO base.

Shadows materialized around them.

Clint swung his bow over his shoulder and pulled out a sidearm and a knife. He dove towards the nearest assailant and stabbed him in the throat, skipping away and heading for another target in the dusty air. All to soon, he found himself back to back with Natasha and surrounded by men. The thick air made him cough.

Natasha's gasping breaths beside him revealed she was having a similar problem.

"Drop your weapons," one of the men demanded in a thick accent.

Natasha nodded at Clint after a moment and the assassins moved to place their weapons on the ground. They were outnumbered and at less than their full capability.

"Hands behind back," the man told them, stepping forward with an assault rifle pointed at their gads.

Once again, they complied.

Zip ties wrapped around their wrists and the assassins exchanged looks, they were definitely in trouble. A sudden prick in Clint's neck told him that the man who'd zip tied him had had another goal: drugging the assassins. He fought to stay coherent and standing as his head swam. His knees buckled beneath his weight and he fell to the sand. Through half-closed eyes, he watched as Natasha joined him on the ground.

* * *

Glenmore sneered at Clint and stepped towards him, "Well, well, well, If it isn't the one and only Hawkeye, in the flesh. How you've been for the last seven years? I see you got out of military prison. Heard you were taking contracts for while, not such a golden boy now, huh?"

Clint took a deep breath and raised a scathing eyebrow at Glenmore, "At least I didn't turn traitor to my country and kill hundreds of innocent people. From where I'm sitting, I'm definitely still the golden one. Still a better shot too, I'd wager."

Glenmore's face contorted in anger before he regained control of himself, "Barton, I don't know if you've realized this—you were a bit slow after all—but I'm the one in control here. Careful or you'll find yourself in a hell of a lot more pain than you've ever felt before."

"I highly doubt that," Clint muttered. He'd experienced a lot of pain throughout his life.

Glenmore's lips curled, "Perhaps you misunderstand me, I'm not above torturing your girlfriend here."

Natasha and Clint both rolled their eyes. Did Glenmore seriously think they'd fall for that tactic.

"What do you want?" Natasha asked calmly, ignoring the men hovering on either side of her.

Glenmore turned to face her, expression unreadable, "I want to know SHIELD's nuclear launch codes."

Clint snorted and Glenmore whirled back to him, "You laugh, but I will get those codes out of you. I knew, that all I had to do was show my face and you'd show up soon enough. You're so predictable."

"They sent me because I always finish the job," Clint threatened.

Glenmore smirked, "That's not what I heard. A rumor's going around that the great Hawkeye couldn't kill the Black Widow. I see it's true. Is she actually that good in bed? Seeing her now, well I'm tempted to find out for myself…"

Clint stiffened involuntarily, cursing himself at what he'd just given away.

"Aha," Glenmore continued. "You  _do_  care for her. That'll make this easier. Tell me the codes."

"I don't have them," Clint said sincerely. "I mean, even if I did, I wouldn't give them to you. But I don't have the information you want. I'm just an assassin, they don't trust me with the big things."

Glenmore turned away and nodded to the men, "You don't want to talk, that's okay. Let's see how long her screaming lasts before you give in."

The two men behind Natasha moved around. The one on the left slammed his fist into her stomach.

Clint heard the air leave her in a desperate whoosh. Her face remained emotionless as the men continued to pummel her abdomen and face. Clint forced himself to sit stoically and show no reaction. He wouldn't give Glenmore the satisfaction.

* * *

_NATO Base, Afghanistan—2009_

Phil paced around the bunkroom he'd been given space in while he waited for his agents to return. They'd left a few of hours ago to keep an eye on the deserted city Glenmore had taken cover in. The city was only an hour away from base, and even assuming they decided to stay a while, they should have at least made contact by now to update him. Ideally, they would have been back. When the agents went missing, it was usually a sign that something had gone wrong.

Of course, the base commander had pointed out that radio reception wasn't always the most reliable out in the desert. And as a result, it was plausible that they were fine and simply unable to make contact. Anyway, with their skills, surely they couldn't find themselves in too much trouble.

The base commander was right. But the gnawing feeling in the pit of Phil's stomach wouldn't go away. Something didn't sit quite right with him and that was enough to have him ready to start searching for them on his own. Instead, he forced himself to wait one more hour as the base commander requested. Give them a bit longer to either make contact or return to the base. Phil had agreed, knowing it wasn't an unreasonable request.

As the hour ticked down, Phil's anxiety increased. An anticlimactic beep sounded quietly from his watch and sent Phil racing to the door of the bunkroom. The hour was up and still no word. Now it was his job to get to work.

The base commander was already forming a search party when Phil appeared in his office. The man nodded and gestured for Phil to get in one of the jeeps headed to the site.

"We'll find them," he promised the SHIELD agent.

Phil nodded once and swung the door shut behind him. Engines rumbled and the convoy exited the base.

When they arrived near the city, Phil stepped out of the car and moved to survey the area below. Peering through his binoculars, he found the city perfectly still. He turned away from the city to examine the surrounding sand dunes. Scanning them carefully, he shook his head in disappointment. No sign of his agents.

A NATO soldier walked over to him, "Any sign?"

Phil shook his head, "No, where were they going to watch from?"

The soldier beckoned for Phil to follow him, "It's this way. We've got a team headed into the city to see if they ventured down there."

Phil nodded, "Show me."

The two men walked around the edge of the city until they reached the dune on which Clint and Natasha had intended to keep watch. Four other soldiers were standing at the base on alert.

Clint's bow lay half buried in the sand.

Phil found it nearly impossible to talk his eyes away from the weapon. Clint didn't leave his bow voluntarily. A few feet away, the contents of their gear bags were strewn about the sand. It looked like anything of value had been taken from the bags and the rest left.

"They've been captured, most likely by Glenmore," Phil announced. He bent over and picked up the bow, slinging it over his shoulder easily. "Search the city and find me someone who can fill us in."

The NATO soldiers nodded and headed down into the city cautiously. They followed the radio directions from the first team into the city, working their way towards the center. They finally caught up with the first team in one of the buildings Glenmore had occupied. Inside, there wasn't any sign of the missing agents.

Phil stepped out of the building and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't going to be easy to find his agents. Romanoff's tracker had been deactivated and removed during her surgery—SHIELD having deemed her trustworthy. Glenmore wasn't stupid, he would ensure that they would be nearly untraceable.

With a sigh, he turned to head back inside, speaking to the soldiers as he walked in, "Let's get back and see if we can find any satellite images that'll tell us what happened."

The soldiers gathered up the little bit of evidence remaining and led the way back to the convoy.

Phil gripped the bow hard and looked back at the city. The gnawing feeling in his gut had only worsened during the time spent in the city. His agents were in trouble and based on what he knew of Clint's history with Glenmore, things were probably pretty dire.

"We'll find them," the driver said when Phil slid into his seat.

Phil nodded once. The question was if they'd find them alive.

* * *

_Unknown Location, Afghanistan—2009_

Natasha spit blood out of her mouth once the men stepped away. They'd been hitting her off and on for the last hour while Clint refused to give them what they wanted. Natasha knew that the beatings would be nothing compared to what they would try next. The Red Room had trained her well though, she wouldn't give in to them. She just hoped that Clint knew that and wouldn't tell them anything of value either. He had to remember that she was a professional and could handle whatever they threw at her.

She caught Clint's eye across the room and tried to give him a smile. The right side of her face twinged in pain as her mouth twisted up. It probably looked more like a grimace than anything else, Natasha thought.

Clint's eyes looked worried while his lips lifted slightly in response. She willed him to understand, she was fine.

"Tell me," Glenmore spoke again. He stepped in front of Clint and squatted down to come face to face with Clint. "Are the codes really worth her suffering? Don't you want to save her?"

Clint rolled his eyes.

A harsh laugh echoed through the room and everyone turned to face Natasha. Blood trickled down her nose from the split in her eyebrow. She smirked at Glenmore, "You're an idiot. I'm the Black Widow. Whatever you do to me, I can assure you, I've had worse. This won't even go down as one of my most memorable assignments. But I will take pleasure in watching you squirm when we kill you."

The guards standing on either side of took a step back, terrified by the deadly calm exuding from the woman.

Glenmore seemed frozen for a moment before he shook himself, "We'll see about that, dear." He gestured for the two men to follow him and swept out of the room.

Clint was straining at his bonds again the moment the door closed.

"I can't get free," Natasha told him as she too, tried to break the ties restraining her.

"Are you okay?" Clint asked, concern evident.

Natasha let her features soften, "I've had worse. I can take it."

"I wish you didn't have to."

She shook her head, "Barton, we're going to be okay. Coulson will find us. We've just got to stick it out until then. Do you know the codes they're looking for?"

Clint shook his head with a wry smile, "I kind of wish I did, just so I could end all of this."

"Even if you did, you couldn't tell them," Natasha chastised him.

"True, but I could if it meant saving you from whatever they've got planned," Clint said. "Don't worry, I won't give anything away. I may make up a string of numbers to get them to leave you alone for a little while if I think you've had too much."

Natasha hesitated before nodding, "Just make sure it's convincing. I think it'll be okay though. They can't possibly be as creative as the Red Room was."

Glenmore and his cronies stalked back into the room. Glenmore passed a thick cane between his hands. The cronies carried bundles of various sizes, which they placed on the table. One of them flipped open what turned out to be a set of knives and pliers while the other unwrapped a hose and hooked it to the spigot against the wall. Setting the cane on the table, Glenmore turned to study the two assassins.

"You going to give us the codes?" he asked conversationally. "I don't want to hurt you any more, but I will if I have to."

"I assume that repeating that I don't know the codes isn't going to change anything?" Clint asked.

Glenmore smirked, "I don't believe you. Even if you are telling the truth, I'm sure that I can pry something of value out of you today."

Clint rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Well," Glenmore said, clapping his hands together. "Let's continue."

The men with him moved to stand beside Natasha again. One grabbed her hair and yanked her head backwards roughly. The other stretched a piece of cloth across her mouth and nose.

Glenmore approached with the now running hose.

Clint forced himself to stay still as the water splashed across Natasha's body. Soon the hose was in position and water streamed into his partner's mouth.

In the chair, Natasha took a deep breath just before the water began pouring into her mouth. Water boarding she could handle. The Red Room had trained her well. Five minutes and twenty-two seconds. That was how long she could hold her breath. Natasha began to count.

After a minute, the hose pulled away and she made a show of coughing and spitting out as much of the water as she could. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air.

Clint narrowed his eyes at his partner, catching on quickly to her act.

Glenmore didn't pull the hose away completely, allowing the water to run down Natasha's collarbone and onto her shirt. She ignored the liquid and focused on the men around her. The one behind her grabbed her again after a nod from Glenmore. When the hose reappeared, she took a deep breath and waited. This time, Glenmore held her under for nearly three minutes. She coughed and gagged again, trying to bring up as much water as possible.

"You're girlfriend doesn't need to go through this," Glenmore interrupted, looking at Clint. Water gushed from the hose and onto the floor. "Tell us the codes."

"If I'm supposed to know the codes," Clint said. "Shouldn't she know them too? Why not torture me to get information from her?"

Glenmore smirked, "SHIELD wouldn't trust the Black Widow with any information valuable like that. No, she doesn't know. But you do."

"No, I don't," Clint said with an exhausted sigh. It has only been a couple of hours since he woke up to Glenmore's presence and he had already tired of the other man. This mission sucked.

"Again," Glenmore commanded.

Natasha sucked in air as her head was yanked back and the hose hovered over her mouth. She twitched as some water poured into her lungs—she hadn't managed to hold her breath before the water started. Her eyes widened as her chest spasmed, trying to rid itself of the liquid. She looked over at Clint and caught his intense gaze. The darkness in his eyes kept her grounded in the moment.  _I can handle this, I've had worse_ , she told herself.

Glenmore didn't pull the hose away for what seemed like an eternity to the two assassins. At four minutes and forty-five seconds, Natasha had tears filling her eyes from the effort it took to not breathe or cough. A few seconds later, Glenmore pulled the hose away.

This time, Natasha's coughs weren't faked. She gagged as the water in her lungs reappeared. Her breaths were ragged. Natasha tried to regulate her breathing, forcing herself to remain calm.

"Glenmore," Clint called, the worry in his eyes evident to Natasha. "I have nothing to tell you, just give up now."

Glenmore laughed cruelly and turned the hose back over to Natasha. This time, she avoided swallowing any water this time. However, once they neared the six minute mark, she felt her lungs spasm as she sucked in a breath. Water spilled down her esophagus and into her lungs. Natasha choked. Water splashed out of her mouth and dribbled down her chin. Her eyes widened in panic as she lost the ability to breathe. She was drowning.

The evil glimmer in Glenmore's eye paired with his smirk made Clint's blood boil. He strained against his restraints while Natasha thrashed in her seat.

After a minute of watching Natasha choke and struggle, Glenmore pulled the hose away. He chuckled to himself when Natasha hunched forward in her seat, gasping and coughing. Vomit spewed from her mouth and splattered across the floor. Some of the bile hit her shirt and stuck to her chin.

The men behind her stepped away in disgust. Glenmore raised an eyebrow in triumph. "You can hold your breath for an impressive amount of time, Ms. Widow."

Natasha spat onto the floor and glared at Glenmore. He looked curious at the hostility radiating from her.

"Я собираюсь наслаждаться убить вас," she snarled at him.  _(I'm going to enjoy killing you.)_

"I'm sure that was some terrifying threat," he said mildly. "Alas, I don't speak Russian, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't run away in fear."

"Ты в порядке?" Clint asked Natasha.  _(You okay?)_

She nodded once and returned to glaring at Glenmore.

"Let's try something else," Glenmore suggested. One of the men turned off the water and coiled the hose up. The other, kept an eye on Clint while Glenmore examined the knives arrayed on the table. He picked up a long, sharp knife, running his finger across the edge, testing it. A red droplet bloomed on the pad of his thumb. His tongue darted out to lick it away, turning back to the assassins with a savage grin.

"Some people become nauseated at the sight of blood," Glenmore lectured as he stepped towards Natasha. "That seems unlikely for any of us in this room, we're all killers after all. I always found it interesting though. How the sight of our life force drove some people to panic… But I digress, the important thing for you to know right now is that I intend to make her bleed."

Natasha kept herself relaxed against the chair, hoping that whatever he was going to do wouldn't cause permanent damage. Water boarding was one thing, knives quite another.

Glenmore dragged the flat side of the knife along Natasha's sternum as if it was a lover's caress. His eyes remained focused on the blade, drinking in the sight of it against her skin. Without warning, he tilted it slightly and pressed down. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as blood welled up alongside the blade.

Bile rose in Clint's throat as he watched Natasha's blood spill across her. It wasn't the blood bothering him, but rather the reason and means behind its release. He tugged hopelessly against the ties on his wrists. Admitting they weren't going to budge, he focused instead on his ankles and getting them released.

The knife flashed away from Natasha's neck and plunged into her thigh. She tensed and clenched her jaw at the sudden pain. A deep breath restored her calm and she quirked an eyebrow at Glenmore. He smirked at her, sticking his hand out to his men. One of them placed what seemed to be a stun gun into it.

Glenmore flipped a switch on the side and held it up for examination. His lips curled into a cruel sneer, "Considering you're a bit damp, this is really going to hurt."

Clint's heart clenched when Glenmore shoved the gun against Natasha's body. Every muscle tightened as the current rushed through her. After a few seconds, Glenmore let go of the switch. Natasha took a deep breath and sent him a defiant stare.

He drew his arm back before jabbing the stun gun just below her rib cage, over her diaphragm. A buzzing signaled the release of more electricity. This time he didn't pull back right away.

* * *

_NATO Base, Afghanistan — 2009_

Pacing the commander's office on the NATO base had quickly exhausted Phil. There was no sign of his agents, not that people hadn't been looking. Every satellite SHIELD had access to (and some they didn't) had been tasked to finding the agents. Every technician on the NATO base was working overtime to see what the Taliban were saying, dissecting the Afghani intelligence, analyzing the information coming in from the teams scouting the area.

At this point, his agents had been missing for at least ten hours. Since no one was exactly sure of when they were taken, they couldn't pinpoint the exact timeframe to search in let alone tell which satellites had images of the area in questions. There was nothing Phil could do but pace. He'd tried to call in favors with his contacts at various agencies around the world, but found that a useless endeavor since most of them were already assisting. His less than savory contacts were scouring their networks for any mention of the Black Widow or Hawkeye, yet nothing had turned up.

A young sergeant appeared in the doorway of the conference room Phil had claimed. She rapped against the doorframe and stood at attention, "Sir, we've got a lead."

Phil nearly tripped over himself in his haste to follow her out of the room.

"Good," the commander said when Phil burst into the control room. "We've got images of a sudden dust cloud in the area your agents were last seen. Forty minutes later, three vehicles drove north out of the city and there was no sign of them."

"Where did they go?" Phil demanded.

"We're trying to track them now. It'll take an hour or so to follow the satellite images and get a lock on the location. I've started to mobilize my forces here, but it'll take time. Anything you can do on your end to streamline the chain of command would help," the commander said.

"I'll do my best," Phil said as he pulled out his phone and dialed SHIELD. He would do whatever it took to get his agents back.

* * *

_Unknown Location, Afghanistan — 2009_

Clint kept his expression neutral as Glenmore and his men walked out of the room again. Once Natasha had slumped forward in her seat, unconscious, they'd lost interest in torturing her. Glenmore told Clint to take the reprieve to think about his choices.

Clint fought to keep the anger and worry from showing in his face until the door closed. His wrists—bloody from trying to escape—pressed against the zip ties futilely. "Natasha!"

She didn't stir.

"Fuck," Clint swore. He looked around the room and shook his head. Nothing he could use to cut his bonds. Rocking himself in the chair, he began to make his way across the room.

Natasha's body tensed when he was halfway to her.

"Tasha?" Clint asked hoping she was waking up. Her eyes cracked open blearily and he tried to give her an encouraging smile. "Hang on, sweetheart."

Natasha tried to stay awake, feeling her consciousness slip away a moment later.

Clint rocked his chair closer, finally getting close enough to sit with their knees touching. His body strained to escape the chair, wanting nothing more than to reach out and hold his partner. She looked like a broken doll, slumped in her chair with blood running down her temple.

Her eyes flickered open and she took a deep shuddering breath, wincing as it jostled her injured ribs. "Clint?" she asked weakly.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, relief evident in his voice. "Glenmore left once you passed out, got bored."

Natasha nodded, struggling to hide her wince from him. "Sorry."

He shook his head, "Not your fault. In fact, it's probably good that you passed out, gave us both a break from the psycho. How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," she said with a smirk. "But I've certainly had worse. I'm okay for a while longer. They can't come anywhere near what the Red Room did to me."

"That's all well and good," Clint said. "I'm not sure how much longer I can take though. I'm going to crack if they do much more to you."

Natasha looked at the door, "How long to you think we have?"

Clint shrugged, "They've been gone for about thirty minutes, I'd say anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. They want you to suffer and they want to see it."

"They can't kill me anytime soon. Without me, they have no leverage."

Clint sighed and began to scoot his chair back across the room. He answered Natasha's unasked question as he moved, "This way they don't get too suspicious, I didn't try to reach you."

She nodded and turned back to the door. They sat in silence, waiting for their captors to return.

It took a while (fifty-two minutes, Natasha counted) for the door to slam open and Glenmore to reappear. He didn't bother with any pleasantries, merely walked over to Natasha and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to face him. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

A sudden blow to her stomach sent the air rushing out of Natasha. She fought to hide her grimace, but knew she'd failed when Glenmore's smirk widened.

"Good, now that you're awake, we can continue."

He walked to the table and picked up a wicked looking pair of pliers. He moved to stand beside Natasha, tugging at the tie binding her wrists to the arms of the chair. Natasha tensed as she realized his purpose. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, she'd had worse, this would be okay.

Clint's breath caught in his throat when Glenmore grabbed Natasha's left index finger and held it straight. With his other hand, he opened the pliers, grabbing the edge of her fingernail. With a satisfied smirk, he squeezed his hand shut, forcing the metal clamp to grip Natasha's nail.

"This is going to hurt," he told Natasha calmly.

When he began to pull, Natasha tensed, her right arm gripping the arm of the chair until her knuckles were white. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as the pressure continued to increase. She'd only had her nails ripped out once before, and that was years ago by the Red Room.

Glenmore pulled harder, shifting slightly to put more weight behind his efforts.

Natasha grit her teeth, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I can see it coming loose," Glenmore said. His tone implied he was speaking about a charming picnic.

Clint kept his eyes glued to Natasha. He could see the effort it took her to keep from making a noise. Her uneven breathing and tense face gave her away.

With a sickening jolt, Natasha felt the nail pull away from the cuticle. She bit down on her tongue, tasting blood as her teeth pierced the muscle. Glenmore slid her nail out of the nail bed easily, the blood running across her finger helping to lubricate it.

Glenmore held the nail up to the light and turned it back and forth, examining it. He hummed and moved to place the pliers back on the table.

"You can end this anytime, Barton."

Clint grit his teeth, looked at Natasha and sighed dramatically, "Fine. Leave her alone. The first code you'll need is charlie-zero-seven-zero-four, the next one is alpha-papa-one-niner-one-eight."

Glenmore narrowed his eyes and concentrated on recalling the sequence Clint had just given him.

Natasha caught the mischievous glint in her partner's eyes and struggled to not give away the game. Maybe Glenmore wouldn't notice.

Glenmore frowned, "Nice try, Barton, but not even SHIELD is stupid enough to use Captain America's birthday for their launch codes."

Clint shrugged, "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"No, but I will make the woman suffer for your foolishness." Glenmore picked up the wooden cane sitting on the table and walked over to the door. His muffled shout was too garbled for the assassins to understand. The cane in his hand was all too clear though.

A couple of minutes later, the two men who'd been present earlier returned to the room. They walked over to Natasha and lifted the chair, tipping it onto its back so that Natasha's calves were parallel to the floor. She sent a worried look over at Clint, knowing what was going to happen.

The first crack of the cane against her feet rang through the silent room. Natasha winced at the sting, but remained still.

Clint bit his cheek to keep from yelling, that wouldn't do any good.  _Keep your feet still_ , he chanted silently.

The next three hits came rapidly, mostly landing on the arches of her feet. When she still gave no sign of being injured, Glenmore began to rain blows down on her without pause. His precise swings grew more erratic and he began to hit not just the arches but her heels and toes and occasionally the balls of her feet. Natasha flinched with each hit after a minute, her feet flexing involuntarily, making the irregular blows even more irregular.

Pain shot up her legs from each blow. Some even managed to jar the knife still sticking out of her thigh. Natasha closed her eyes and focused on breathing. Everything hurt.

Tears pricked her eyes and she fought to stay in control.  _You've had worse_ , she reminded herself.

A hard blow to the ball of her right foot had her gasping as she felt bones crack.  _Looks like she'd be on crutches for the foreseeable future, assuming they made it out alive_ , she thought.

Glenmore continued hitting for several more minutes before pausing. He was panting and sweating. He looked at his handiwork critically. The soles of Natasha's feet were red, a trickle of blood ran from the arch of her right foot and down her heel from a gash where the cane had broken skin.

Satisfied, Glenmore nodded to the men. They hoisted Natasha and the chair back to an upright position. Tears streamed down Natasha's cheeks. She winced when her feet came in contact with the floor and Clint watched as she shifted, trying to avoid putting any weight on them. The hitch in her breathing must have been a result of her ribs being jostled by the movement.

Glenmore looked expectantly at Clint, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. He had nothing to say to the man.

"Very well," Glenmore said. He turned to his men, "Hold her hand open for me."

One of the men grabbed Natasha's left hand and forced her to uncurl her fingers. Her index finger still dripped blood and had begun to swell at the cuticle.

Natasha struggled against the grip. Glenmore shook his head and tutted at her, raising the cane and bringing it down with a loud crack on her collarbone. Natasha turned white as the bone snapped. Clint pulled against his bonds fruitlessly.

Glenmore handed the cane to the other man with a sharp look, "If she moves again, don't hesitate to give her a reminder."

The man nodded and stepped closer to Natasha with a wicked gleam in his eye, daring her to twitch.

Natasha kept her eyes on Glenmore as he picked up the pliers again and moved back to her. He knelt in front of her, bracing his elbow on her thigh to steady himself. It sent spasms of pain out from the knife embedded there. He fastened the pliers around the nail on her middle finger, held straight by one of the guards. This time, there was no preamble to the task. Glenmore yanked with all his strength, digging his elbow into her leg, and leaning back onto his knees.

Natasha screamed as the nail popped out suddenly. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her breath came in harsh pants. As her scream pierced his ears, Clint strained against his bonds, surging free and lunging at Glenmore without hesitation.

Surprised by the sudden attack, the older man found himself unable to combat the angry assassin. The two men beside Natasha moved to help their boss.

The door burst open and armed men and women in tan camouflage rushed into the room. They didn't hesitate to fire, sending the two men to the ground with several bullets buried in their abdomens. Glenmore managed to kick Clint of off of him only to freeze when he saw the intruders.

With an apologetic glance, Clint pulled the knife out of Natasha's thigh and lunged forward, running it across Glenmore's throat. Blood sprayed out, drenching Clint. He dropped the knife and turned away from Glenmore's gurgling form. The soldiers stood immobile for a moment before moving to release Natasha from her restraints. She collapsed into Clint's arms, shaking as waves of pain crashed through her frame. Blood poured freely from her leg now, creating a small pool on the floor.

Natasha felt unconsciousness calling her, and unable to fight any longer, gave into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This chapter was pretty intense for our assassins. I'd love to hear what you think of it, so leave a comment please :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: “Are you okay?” she asked.
> 
> Clint snorted. “Am I okay? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
> 
> Natasha shook her head, twining her uninjured fingers with his. “We both know that you were in a worse position than I.”
> 
> “All I did was sit there.”


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.
> 
> Thank you to Karolina94, ViviChick, Accolade_Bespoke, Angie_Martinelli, and a Guest for commenting on last chapter!

_SHIELD Base, New York—2003_

Clint lounged in the chair of the psych department room he'd been placed in, doing his best to project an air of disinterested nonchalance. This was his fifth time visiting psych in as many weeks, every Thursday at four-fifteen since he'd been admitted as a trainee to SHIELD. And every time, he'd had a new doctor talking to him. Clint wasn't stupid, he knew that it probably wasn't a good thing that none of the doctors he'd talked to had bothered to stick around, they certainly hadn't given him any good reviews.

Today was different, he'd entered the main office as usual, but instead of being met by a doctor, he was led to a side room and left to sit. It had been twenty minutes and his patience was already running out. The only thing that had kept him in the chair was the feeling that he was being watched. Doing anything to ease the boredom would risk revealing something to the doctors. Clint refused to give in and tell them anything.

A tall, brunette woman swept into the room a moment later, earning little more than a glance from Clint as she took a seat across from him.

"Hello Agent Barton," she said with a friendly smile. "I'm Dr. Jennifer Parilla, I'm the head of the pyschology department here."

Clint nodded once in recognition of her title. He had no intention of speaking.

"Based on what my five doctors have said, you're a difficult case."

He allowed his smirk to show, glad to hear he'd had an effect.

Parilla jotted a note down on the file in front of her. "So tell me Clint, it is okay if I call you Clint, right?"

Clint shrugged, he didn't give a damn what she called him.

"Clint, then, tell me how things are going for you here?"

"Fine," he grunted.

Parilla made another note and nodded. She flipped the file to a different page and read for a moment.

"Clint, I know a lot about you," she began. "I know you were born in Waverly, Iowa to an abusive father and adoring mother, you have an older brother named Bernard, but he goes by Barney. When you were six, you're parents died in a car accident and you and your brother were sent to the local orphanage. Four years later, you both ran away to join the circus. At sixteen, you ended up in the hospital with a severe knife wound to your back and that led to you leaving the circus. Six months later, you faked your enlistment forms and joined the Army."

Clint swallowed, they did know a lot about him, and he was pretty sure she was just skimming over the details SHIELD had.

"Your service record is impressive, until you were dishonorably discharged and arrested for lying about your age. You broke out of prison soon after and began working as a contract assassin. I've heard there are over a hundred confirmed kills and many more alleged ones attributed to you. Somehow, Agent Coulson convinced you to join SHIELD and since then you've proven to be a potentially valuable if contrary asset to this organization," she finished.

Clint schooled his face to reflect mild interest in her words. "You left out that my favorite color is purple and that I love a good barbecue."

"Uses humor as a defense to uncomfortable situations," Parilla muttered as she wrote in the file.

Clint narrowed his eyes. Is that how this was going to be?

"Agent Barton," she said. "You're young and you've seen and done some horrible things in your short life. But I don't believe you are as deranged or dangerous as you'd like people to think. You hate inaction, which is why you chafe against your training instructors. Let me make this clear to you though, you will not be getting out in the field without clearance from my department and until you and I have talked a few times, you won't be getting that."

He didn't respond.

Parilla sighed, "So here's my deal, you cooperate with me, answer some of my questions, tell me about your day maybe, and I will see what I can do to make sure you start going on missions as soon as possible."

Clint eyed her for a moment before nodding.

Parilla nodded and stood up, "Great. I'll see you next Thursday then."

* * *

_NATO Base, Afghanistan - 2009_

Clint had half-carried Natasha after she regained consciousness on their way out of Glenmore's compound. Her arm draped over his shoulder as she limped along, ashen. She'd kept her left hand cradled to her body for the entire ride back to the NATO base, refusing medical assistance from any of the team beyond a cotton pad tied around the knife wound in her thigh. Phil had called ahead to the base and had medical personnel standing by to escort them to the infirmary.

Sitting in the infirmary, Clint was glad to note that the walls were gray, instead of the sterile white he was used to. Natasha sat on the end of one of the beds, staring at the wall in front of her with vacant eyes. She'd refused all medical treatment until Sanders arrived (he'd apparently gotten on a plane the moment he heard they'd been captured).

"Tasha," Clint said, breaking the silence in the room. Phil had left a few minutes ago after asking cursory questions. "You should get those wounds looked at."

She turned to look at him, nothing changing in her expression.

Clint's voice was hoarse with emotion when he spoke again, "Please, I hate seeing you hurt, especially knowing that it's my fault. Let them at least stop some of the bleeding.

"I'm fine," Natasha said. "I've had worse and Sanders will be here soon."

"There's no reason why you need to wait."

Natasha lifted her right arm slowly and held out her hand to Clint. He stood up and took her hand, moving to stand right next to her. She spoke softly, "It's not your fault. This would have happened regardless of anything you did. The Red Room did worse, and I'm fine right now. Sanders will be able to patch everything up without issue."

"You don't have to wait," he said, pleading to her.

Natasha shook her head, "I know. But I don't want anyone else treating me. I've had too many bad experiences with doctors."

Clint sighed and squeezed her hand gently, "Okay. Do you want me to get you anything while we wait?"

"Just stay, please."

He moved to sit beside her on the end of the bed, still holding her hand.

When Sanders and Phil walked in twenty minutes later, the assassins hadn't changed positions. Sanders merely raised an eyebrow and stepped forward while Phil frowned at the sight.

"Looks like you've got yourself pretty banged up," Sanders said to Natasha.

When the doctor lifted Natasha's chin to examine the bruises on her jaw, Clint stood and stepped away to stand beside Phil. Sanders clinically moved his eyes from Natasha's face down her neck, collarbone, and to the hand she cradled against her body.

"Two fingernails ripped out," Natasha explained when she saw his gaze.

"What else?"

"Beating, water boarding, electroshock, knife wounds, and foot caning."

Sanders shook his head and continued his survey, eyes lingering on her leg and then down to her feet. He knelt and gently lifted her calves to examine the soles.

"Okay, let's start with the hand and collarbone. I assume you've got some broken ribs too?" Sanders said.

Natasha nodded.

"Off with the shirt."

Clint stepped forward to help Natasha untangle herself from the tank top, trying not to jostle her injuries too much. Sanders unwrapped a wad of ace-bandages and gently pressed against her ribs, gauging the extent of the damage. Once her ribs were securely wrapped, Sanders pressed along her clavicle. Natasha hissed when he hit the break, feeling the bones shift slightly beneath his touch.

"Sorry. You can put your shirt back on, I'm putting your arm in a sling."

Clint once again helped and within a few minutes, Natasha found herself with one arm immobilized in a sling.

"Let me look at that hand," Sanders commanded.

A grimace passed across Natasha's face as she held out her arm and uncurled her fingers. She didn't want to look at the bloody mess Glenmore had left.

"I need to sterilize these and then bandage them. I also want to start you on antibiotics and maybe fluids. Have you had anything to drink since your return to base?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Food."

Another negative.

Sanders looked at the two men in the room for a moment before turning to Phil (it was obvious that Clint had no intention of leaving). "Coulson, see if you can find us some food and water."

"The knife wounds also need to be cleaned," Sanders warned before opening several packages of antibacterial wipes. He was gentle as he cleaned the dried blood off. Despite the antiseptic stinging the wounds, Natasha remained immobile and emotionless.

"Barton," Sanders said after a few minutes. "List your injuries."

Clint sighed, "I'm fine."

"Barton," the doctor growled.

"Some cuts and bruises."

"His wrists are a mess from being tied to the chair," Natasha said.

Sanders nodded, "If that's it I'll let you wait until I finish with Romanoff."

"I'll wait," Clint said. His eyes never leaving Natasha.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2009_

After Sanders finished giving Natasha medical attention, Phil packed the assassins and doctor onto a plane and the group headed back to New York. Natasha and Clint sat in the back, ignoring the men in front of them. Sanders did his best not to observe the pair, but found his eyes darting back to check on them frequently. Natasha leaned against Clint, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were closed and Clint's lips pressed against her forehead in between his murmurings. Sanders had looked away, not wanting to intrude.

Back at base, he'd run Natasha through a few body scans before deeming her fit enough to leave medical. He considered restricting her to base, but decided to let psych make that choice. Then he'd watched as Jennifer Parilla had pulled the assassins out of the infirmary and into her office.

Inside the psychologist's office, Clint and Natasha sat up straight and tense in front of Parilla's desk. The older woman studied the assassins; their tight posture, hardened eyes, and emotionless faces betrayed their emotions. Parilla had worked for SHIELD for nearly twenty years, in that time, she'd had some tough cases, none like Romanoff and Barton though. They were a league of their own, but Parilla had figured out how to read them quickly. Her rule of thumb was the less emotion they showed, the more upset they were.

Natasha shifted in her seat, not breaking eye contact with the doctor. Her mouth tightened infinitesimally as the change in position jostled her ribs for a moment.

Parilla sighed and dropped her gaze to the document in front of her. It was the combined report of the mission with pieces from Coulson, Romanoff, Barton, and Sanders to fill in the gaps. "How are you feeing, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha's lips quirked, "Physically? Or mentally? Because physically, I'm in a bit of pain. Mentally, I'm fine."

"And you, Agent Barton?" Parilla asked, doubting the veracity of Natasha's words.

The man shrugged, always doing his best to remain silent within the office.

"I know this wasn't an easy experience for either of you," Parilla said. "I think I can help you process the events of this last mission."

Neither of them spoke. It wasn't that either of them doubted her capabilities, but they didn't want to open themselves up to someone else.

Parilla sighed, "I could always just keep you on base until you talk to me."

"You won't though," Clint said.

Parilla raised an eyebrow.

"You're thrilled that we've bonded with each other," Clint continued. "You would like us to talk to you, but you also know that we've come to lean on each other for emotional and psychological support when needed. You won't force us to talk to you if you think we have relatively healthy coping mechanisms outside of work."

The woman studied them for a minute, her expression not changing at all.

She sighed and set down her pen, "You're right to a certain extent, I do believe that the two of you will be far more helpful to each other than I or any of my staff. However, SHIELD requires all agents to meet with this department after undergoing a certain amount of trauma. So for now, I've determined that neither of you are a threat to yourselves or others. You're free to go. But, I will see both of you, back in this office, in a week. And we will talk then."

The two assassins nodded and stood to leave.

"Take care of each other," Parilla called before the door swung closed. She sat back in her seat and ran her hand through her hair, wishing she had half the resilience those two had.

Down in the garage, Clint opened the passenger door for Natasha, waiting for her to be settled before taking his own seat. He sped out of the building and towards New York. Clint gripped the wheel with white knuckles, the only external sign of his internal turmoil.

* * *

_Clint's Apartment, New York City—2009_

Clint had driven straight to his apartment, barely obeying traffic laws on his way. He just wanted to get home and wrap himself around Natasha. She hadn't directed him to her place, so he assumed that she was okay with his decision. Once inside, Natasha turned to him, exhaustion written on her face.

"I need a shower," she said.

Clint nodded. "I'll get us some food."

He dragged their bags into the bedroom and moved into the kitchen to dig through the drawer of take out menus.

"Clint," Natasha's voice cut through the apartment and sent her partner racing to the bathroom. He could hear the water running. Had she fallen? What was wrong?

He opened the door without knocking and took a calming breath when he saw Natasha standing in the shower. Her arms hung limp at her sides, her hair stuck to her face.

"Sorry," she said, catching sight of his panicked face. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just—I can't wash my hair. It hurts to lift my arms and even if I did that, well my fingers probably wouldn't enjoy it much."

Clint gave her a reassuring smile, his heartbeat returning to normal. He began stripping off his clothes, shivering as the cold air hit his skin. "You know, there was one good thing about Afghanistan."

Natasha gave him a questioning look.

"It was warm."

She huffed at his comment and stepped out from under the water, giving Clint a chance to wet himself. He wrapped his arms around Natasha, bringing her close against his chest, resting his head on hers for a moment. "I was so scared I was going to lose you," he whispered.

Natasha shook her head, and brought her arms up to return the embrace. "I'm okay. I'm here."

A few moments later, Clint stepped back a bit and moved his hands to cup her face. He pushed her hair out of her eyes, pulling it behind her back and bent his head to kiss her. Natasha sighed against his mouth, relaxing against him.

"I believe I'm here to help with hair washing," Clint said with a crooked smile when he broke the kiss.

Natasha nodded, "Please."

The shampoo was cool against his palm. It warmed quickly when he rubbed his hands together for a moment and then began scrubbing the liquid against Natasha's scalp, massaging her head as the shampoo slid down into her hair.

Natasha's eyes slipped closed and she leaned into his touch.

A chuckle rumbled out of Clint when she practically purred. He leaned close to her ear to whisper, "You're like a cat."

Natasha cracked an eye open to glare at him. She stepped away and moved under the water again, trusting Clint to keep the soap out of her eyes.

"What else?" he asked once her hair was clear of suds.

Natasha bit her lip for a second, "Conditioner, if you're willing. And I haven't even tried to wash my body."

"Conditioner first. I'm sure I'll get distracted by the second."

It was her turn to laugh, though it turned into half a moan when Clint's hands returned to her hair, working the conditioner throughout her hair.

He picked up the washcloth she'd set next to the soap and lathered it, quickly moving to smooth it over her arms and shoulders. He pressed gently against the skin around her injuries, ghosting his fingers hand over her bruised torso, and caressing her legs. Natasha stepped back under the water, letting the soap run off her body.

Then Clint was there, pressing her against the wall, earning a shiver as her back hit the cold tile. She pulled his head down so their lips could meet in a passionate kiss. Clint grabbed her leg and hitched it over his waist, drawing a sharp breath from her.

"Sorry," he murmured against her lips.

Natasha shook her head and dropped a hand between the two of them. Her fingers circled her clit, arousal rising in her lower abdomen. Clint pressed his hardened length against her, groaning at the contact. One hand pressed against the wall, holding them up while the other moved to cup her breast for a moment. Natasha groaned as his fingers trailed down her stomach, barely exerting any pressure.

"Never again," Clint whispered fervently, rocking against her.

Natasha mimicked the action. She set her lips on his jaw, nipping and sucking over to his ear. "I love you," she sighed.

Clint reached down and grabbed himself. He pressed the tip against her entrance, groaning when Natasha shifted her hips forward to take him in. The pair moved together, eyes locked as they made love against the wall of the shower. Clint found himself close to the edge all too quickly.

"Natasha," he rumbled.

Realizing he was close, Natasha ground her hips against him more firmly. A moment later, Clint spilled himself inside of her, breathing hard as his orgasm hit. Natasha held still as he came down from his high.

Smiling at her, Clint pulled out and pressed his hand between her legs, letting her grind against his fingers. He felt her legs begin to tremble and watched as her stomach tightened. Natasha's orgasm had her entire body twitching as it washed over her. She leaned against Clint on shaking legs.

They shared another kiss before Clint pulled her back under the water and began washing the conditioner out of her hair. His gentle touch had Natasha starting to feel drowsy. Clint switched off the water and stepped out of the shower, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist before turning to Natasha with the other one.

He tenderly helped her dry off and maneuver into her clothes and sling. After dressing himself, he moved out into the living room to find Natasha sitting on the couch and staring at her comb in consternation.

"Let me," he said, taking the comb from her and moving to sit behind her. His fingers expertly divided and untangled her hair before dragging the comb through it. When he finished, he pressed his lips against her head and stood up. "What do you want to eat?"

Natasha shrugged, she didn't feel very hungry though she knew her body needed food.

"Sandwiches good? I know a place that delivers."

"Sure."

When he returned to the couch after calling for food, Natasha turned to lie down between his legs, resting against his chest. Her arms settled on his, wrapped around her waist.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Clint snorted. "Am I okay? Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Natasha shook her head, twining her uninjured fingers with his. "We both know that you were in a worse position than I."

"All I did was sit there."

"I've seen your wrists, Clint. They're bruised and bleeding. You may have technically been sitting, but you were fighting every second."

She was met with silence. Finally, Clint spoke, unconsciously pulling her closer. "I'm okay. I can still hold you and right now that's all that matters to me."

Natasha was drifting off to sleep when a knock at the door had her tense and alert. Clint ran his hand across her forearm soothingly, "It's just the food."

Her muscles relaxed as she processed his words. She shifted to allow Clint to get off the couch, sinking down into the cushions while he spoke to the delivery person. She still didn't trust random people showing up at the door.

"You've got to eat something," Clint said when he returned to the couch to find Natasha nearly asleep.

She opened her eyes and sat up, wincing as the movement sent pain radiating through her body.

Clint walked over to the kitchen and filled two glasses of water, coming back to sit on the floor next to the coffee table. "We don't have to be back to work for at least a week," he remarked. "Any preferences for what we do?"

Natasha shook her head, swallowing the bite of sandwich she'd managed to chew. "Sleep?"

Clint chuckled, "Anything else?"

"Right now, that's all I can think of."

Clint wolfed down his sandwich and wiped his fingers on a napkin as he turned back to Natasha. She had only eaten half of her food, and even then, she'd pulled off random bits and pieces, leaving them laying on the wrapper.

"You don't have to keep eating," Clint reminded her.

Natasha eyed her sandwich and shook her head, "It tastes good, but I just feel terrible, I don't think I'll be able to keep much more down."

"Come on, time to get you into a bed." Clint helped pull her to her feet. He offered her the glass of water and reached into his pocket to pull out a little orange bottle. "Sanders sent home some painkillers for you."

She looked at them opening her mouth to refuse.

"You're in a safe place," he continued, hastening to overrule her objections before she even voiced them. "It's okay if you aren't fully aware. And I'll be here…"

The last part was added softly, almost as if it was a question.

Sighing, Natasha nodded and held out her hand, "Okay."

Clint popped open the bottle and tapped a single, white capsule onto her waiting palm. Once Natasha had taken the medicine, he gave her his shoulder to lean on as she hobbled into the bedroom, her muscles stiff and her feet protesting.

She settled into bed with a relieved sigh, already feeling the pain medication going to work. Clint gave her a reassuring smile as he stepped away, "I'll be right back, just going to clean up the sandwiches."

Natasha's eyes drifted closed.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2009_

"Coulson," Fury greeted the man as he walked into the office.

Coulson's head shot up. He pushed back from the desk where he'd been reviewing mission reports to help out while his agents were out of commission. "I didn't expect you, sir."

Fury shook his head and waved his hand at Coulson, gesturing for the man to remain seated. He pushed the door closed and sat down across from Phil.

"I want to talk to you about Barton and Romanoff," Fury said.

Phil frowned, he couldn't think of them doing anything that necessitated a visit from the director.

"Relax, they aren't in trouble."

"Then what brings you down here?"

Fury sighed and shook his head. "I don't usually take such a personal interest in agents here. But Barton and Romanoff are truly exceptional, so here I am. How are they doing? We all know Afghanistan was rough."

Phil snorted, "Afghanistan was a shit show from start to finish. They shouldn't have been sent, but it couldn't have been anyone else either."

"You think someone tipped off Glenmore."

"Yes. He were ready to capture both of them and he knew that he could use them against each other to get information. Add in the fact that the base commander didn't want to start searching for them right away and the whole mess is on us, Nick."

"I agree," Fury said. "I have a feeling that there's someone on the Council with a very big grudge against those two. But whoever it is, they're smart enough to keep it quiet and only push for some things. I don't know who it is and we'll likely never find out, we can only trust that they can take care of themselves and get out alive. How are they?"

Phil hesitated, he didn't want to reveal too much about their relationship but also refused to lie to the director. "They'll be okay. Both of them are kind of a mess. Romanoff, physically obviously. I don't know much about her mental state, but I imagine that she's actually doing okay with the torture. She told us that she'd had worse. But it'll take her a while to recover anyway. Barton, well, you can probably guess how he's doing. He blames himself."

"Are they together?" Fury asked.

"What do you mean?"

Fury shrugged, "Are they helping each other recover?"

Phil nodded, "Yes, they are. She's letting Clint help her while she recovers. And I think that's helping Clint."

"Good."

The men fell into silence. Phil waited, almost anxiously, for Fury to ask the question that hung in the room.

"Phil," Fury began, tone deadly serious. "Are they compromised?"

"It depends on your definition of compromised," Phil allowed.

"Can they do their job or do I need to split them up?"

"They're professionals. I don't think either of them are capable of letting personal feelings interfere with a mission. When they started working together, they were clearly hostile to each other and yet that never impacted their mission success."

Fury nodded once.

"Are they sleeping together?" he asked after a moment.

Phil rubbed his hand over his face. To lie or tell the truth? He decided to go with a half-truth. "I know they've shared a bed outside of missions because it helps them deal with nightmares."

Fury chuckled, "I have my suspicions about them. There's clearly an attraction there, but the longer they hold off on acting the easier it is for all of us. Just, tell me if it becomes an issue and I'll take care of it."

"Of course, sir."

"As for how they're recovering from Afghanistan," Fury continued. "I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but I hope they're starting to make some progress. Parilla said that neither of them will talk during sessions, either singly or together. If you say they're helping each other though, it makes it easier for me to overrule Parilla and refuse to make them talk to psych more often."

"Psych isn't going to help them. I'm sure the doctors could, but neither Romanoff nor Barton would actually drop their guard long enough for psych to do anything. Around each other though, they're relaxed, natural."

"It's funny hearing you talk about Romanoff that way. I take it she convinced you of her loyalty?"

"Taking a bullet for Clint made it clear that she intended to stick around, or at least not kill him."

"Good, though if he's not careful about how far he pushes her with his antics, she might just kill him. And I don't think anyone would blame her."

Phil laughed, "That's true, but she's pretty good at controlling him."

"It's good to hear that they're doing okay. Let me know if there's anything you or either of them need. As it is, I've already got pressure from the Council to get them back in the field."

"Sanders is refusing to let Romanoff go until her nails grow back. And Parilla won't clear either of them anytime soon."

"That's what I'm counting on. They deserve a break." Fury stood and left the office with a final nod at Phil. The younger man shook his head, still surprised by the director's interest in his agents. He turned back to the papers on his desk and continued reading, though he found it hard to retain the information. He hadn't meant to lie to Fury about their relationship, he'd had every intention of telling the director the truth if he asked.

* * *

_Clint's Apartment, New York City—2009_

Natasha opened her eyes and crawled out of bed six weeks after returning from Afghanistan. She was still staying in Clint's apartments, with brief stops at her place to just check that everything was okay and grab more clothes and books. She opened the closet to find that half of it was filled with her things and sighed.  _When had she moved in?_

After showering and dressing, she moved into the kitchen where Clint handed her a cup of tea, made exactly the way she liked it. They'd gotten into a rhythm in the last few weeks. Clint woke up first usually, and either stayed in bed for a while, or got up and made breakfast. Every morning, he handed Natasha a perfect cup of tea and gave her a peck on the lips.  _When had he learned how to make her tea? Why hadn't she noticed until now?_

"When did I move in?" she asked Clint with a half-smile.

He grinned at her, "I was wondering when you'd notice."

"Seriously though, when did that happen?"

He shrugged, "I'd say you hit half of the closet two weeks ago, and I had to buy a second bookcase three days ago, so sometime between those days."

"I thought the bookcase was for you!"

"I do not read nearly as much as you do, and movies don't take up the same amount of space. That bookcase is all for you, sweetheart."

Natasha laughed and shook her head. "Some spy I am, didn't even realize I'd moved in…"

"We're just a little rusty, we've been out of the game for a while."

Natasha looked down at her hand, the only place where she was still injured. Her nails had almost grown back; they were nearly to the end of her fingertips. Soon, she'd be cleared by Sanders to resume training. And while Parilla hadn't officially cleared her and Clint yet, she would as soon as she got any pressure to do so.

Last time she'd seen Phil—at Clint's birthday party—he'd told them that the Council was dying to have them back in the field, pushing everyone to clear them. Without a medical reason to remain on leave, it would only be a matter of time before they were back at work.

"You're almost healed," Clint said softly, noticing her interest in her hand.

She nodded.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

She looked at him, mouth half opened in a silent gasp. Her words tumbled out in a rush, "No! I do, that's not it at all. I like being here—living here. I was just thinking about how it wouldn't be long until we were back in the field."

"Yeah, too soon for my taste," he said. "Though, I will probably start to get bored in a week or two…"

"I'm surprised you haven't been complaining and begging for a mission yet."

Clint shrugged. "I've had you to entertain me."

"I'm glad to have been of service."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, his chuckle rumbling through her smaller frame. "I couldn't have survived this without you, darlin'."

Natasha relaxed against him for a moment before stepping away. "I've got a session with Parilla to get to. Think I should break down this time?"

Clint smirked, "If you do, I'll be here to take advantage of your emotional state after."

Natasha laughed as the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for reading. So this is the last chapter I have completed at this point... I'm going to try very hard to keep posting everyday, but it may not happen. Feel free to leave me a comment, they make me write faster :)
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Maria walked over to stand next to Phil. She skimmed the titles of the books on the shelf, noticing that many of them were Russian. “How long have you two been sleeping together?”
> 
> In the kitchen, Clint dropped the pan he was washing into the sink. The clatter made the other three turn to look.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Accolade_Bespoke, Angie_Martinelli, and Annemarie for commenting on last chapter!

_Moscow, Russia—2005_

Natasha stepped inside the apartment, exhaustion dragging her down. She'd spent the last two weeks running an intense operation in Brazil for the Red Room. She forced a smiled across her lips as she heard someone moving around the kitchen. It was Alexei. They'd been married for almost a year now, and he still bought it every time she lied to him and said she had to leave because of ballet.

She figured he was either incredibly gullible or desperate to believe her lies. It didn't really matter which it was, only that he didn't question her.

The young man looked up when Natasha walked in, grinning widely at her and gesturing to the stove. "Just in time! Dinner will be ready soon."

Natasha eyed the flowers sitting on the table next to an opened, expensive bottle of wine. She sighed, mentally preparing herself for an extended evening with her husband. Alexei was thoughtful, too thoughtful because she often just wanted to go home and sleep.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, hoping he would let her off the hook.

Alexei gave Natasha a funny look, before laughing. "I'm sure with all that travel you've lost track of the date. It's our anniversary. I thought we could celebrate. Nothing too fancy. But I didn't want us to let this go unmarked."

"Of course," she said, forcing her smile to widen. "I'd completely lost track of the date. Just let me go clean up from the plane."

Alexei nodded and kissed her on the cheek before turning back to the meal.

Natasha slipped into the bathroom and turned the shower on. She stripped efficiently and stepped beneath the spray, longing to get rid of the feeling that she was covered in blood and dirt. She knew she wasn't anymore, but it still felt like it. A thump from the kitchen forced her to hurry. She couldn't delay too long.

_Had it really been a year?_  she wondered. It seemed to have flown by.

In the bedroom, Natasha pulled on a casual dress and fixed the earrings Alexei had given her for their wedding into her ears. She took a deep breath to fortify herself before stepping outside. None of this was fair to him, living a lie without knowing it. Natasha resolved to make it as pleasant an experience as possible. Alexei didn't deserve to be dragged down in her life.

* * *

_Clint's Apartment, New York City—2009_

Natasha had spent the day away from the apartment (she'd stopped thinking of it as  _Clint's_  apartment, but couldn't quite bring herself to call it theirs) thanks to her final check up with Sanders at base and then Clint's strict orders that she not return until five. It was the second anniversary of her recruitment to SHIELD and he had something planned.

She'd wandered through Central Park, stopping to read for a while on one of the benches. After that, she had decided to head over to Fifth Avenue and shop for a while. She'd held back and only bought herself one new dress. She planned to wear it the next time she and Clint went out.

When it was time to head home, she hopped in a cab and headed to Bed-Stuy. Clint should have finished with his preparations by then and couldn't get mad at her for coming back. Natasha paused outside the door, contemplating knocking. She shook her head, there was no reason, she had a key, and they'd agreed that she pretty much lived there anyway.

"You're here!" Clint greeted her when she walked in, grabbing her and pushing her towards the bedroom. "Go change and then you can come out."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. He'd dressed up from his normal jeans and tshirt. "Are we expecting company?"

"Just Phil, but we're all dressing up a little bit. I'll have wine for you when you come out."

With a small sigh, Natasha headed into the bedroom and surveyed the closet. She pulled out a sundress, navy blue with white flowers growing from the hem of the skirt. She decided to slide on a pair of silver sandals to match before heading outside. Clint handed her a glass of wine when she walked into the kitchen, smiling at her with adoration.

"Did you have a good day?"

Natasha took a drink and nodded, "I did. Sanders cleared me for field work and then I went to the park before shopping for a while."

"Did you buy me anything?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

Natasha smirked at him, "Kind of. At least, I think you'll like what I bought for myself."

"That sounds promising."

Natasha recognized the glint in his eyes and set her wine on the counter behind her, pushing it back far enough to ensure it wouldn't get knocked over. Clint stepped forward, making her press against the counter. Her arms moved up to rest on his shoulders.

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me," he said fervently.

Natasha smiled, "Well, I didn't have much of a choice, there was a crazy archer threatening me."

Clint's mouth morphed into a smile to match her own and their lips met in a lazy kiss.

They broke apart when they heard a knock at the door, both breathing a bit harder with swollen lips. Clint cleared his throat and stepped away from her. He ran a hand through his hair as he opened the door, glad that Phil hadn't decided to walk in. The first time had been awkward enough.

Phil gave Clint a quick hug, patting the man on the back and whispering in his ear, "I'm sorry."

Clint's eyes widened as he realized why the man was apologizing. Marie Hill stood in the doorway with her usual no-nonsense frown.

"Barton," she said.

"Agent Hill," Clint said loudly, hoping to give Natasha some warning. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Coulson and I had some business to finish discussing, in fact, it involves you and Romanoff, so I figured I could just join the party. That's not a problem is it?"

Natasha appeared around the corner with a professional smile in place, "Not at all, Agent Hill."

"Great." Hill stepped past the men in the doorway and entered the apartment. She surveyed it with a critical eye before nodding once.

Natasha offered the other woman a glass of wine and shrugged in response to Clint's raised eyebrow.

"Congratulations, Romanoff," Maria said. "You've survived two years with Barton, I didn't think anyone but Coulson had the patience."

"I'm right here, you know," Clint said.

Maria raised an eyebrow at him.

"Thank you," Natasha replied. "You just have to be firm with him."

Phil snorted and turned to admire the bookshelf in the living room.

"I'm going to check on the food," Clint said, sulking away to the kitchen.

Maria walked over to stand next to Phil. She skimmed the titles of the books on the shelf, noticing that many of them were Russian. "How long have you two been sleeping together?"

In the kitchen, Clint dropped the pan he was washing into the sink. The clatter made the other three turn to look.

Natasha turned back to face Hill, she raised her chin defiantly, "Since Ireland. You going to tell Fury?"

Maria thought for a moment before shaking her head. "You know, I don't think I am. Clearly, it doesn't impact your ability to work. But the day it does I'm going to him and having you split up."

Clint nodded from the doorway. "Fair enough."

"I have a question," Phil said. "When did Romanoff move in?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen while Clint started laughing. "Sometime in the last month, we're not exactly sure when it became official."

Phil raised his eyebrows but accepted the answer.

"Dinner's ready," Clint announced. The group sat down at the table in the kitchen. Clint carried out a large platter and bowl and set them in the center. "Chicken marsala and rice pilaf. For dessert, we have cupcakes."

"Cupcakes?" Natasha asked.

Clint grinned, "They have the SHIELD logo on them in red and black frosting. It took me all day so you'd all better enjoy them."

"Speaking of SHIELD," Maria said. "You two have a mission tomorrow. That's why I came."

"Where are we going?" Natasha said, forking a piece of chicken onto her plate.

"São Paolo."

"Why?" Clint demanded. Then he shook his head, "No, never mind. New rule, no work talk until after dessert. We're celebrating tonight."

_SHIELD Base, New York—2009_

Clint scowled at the folder in front of him. They'd been out of the field for nearly two months and now the Council was assigning them a mission. It seemed fishy. Add in the fact that their Council assigned missions tended to go horribly awry and Clint was less than pleased. He turned his attention to Hill and Coulson in the front of the conference room. They were pulling up a satellite feed of São Paolo.

"As you've probably already read," Maria began. "We've sent two new agents to São Paolo after hearing about a group that was developing a new drug. It's still experimental, but so far has proven to be highly addictive and to have mind-control effects—"

"What do you mean by 'mind-control effects'?" Clint interrupted.

Phil looked sick, "From what we can tell, they've been experimenting on the poor of São Paolo. Those who have taken the drugs have become highly suggestible, to the point where they obey any command given and fulfill any request without hesitation."

"Sounds like something the Red Room would come up with," Natasha remarked. Her eyes were calculatingly cold.

"We have reason to suspect Russian involvement," Maria said.

"Nothing sanctioned by the government of course." Natasha locked down her emotionless mask.

Clint cleared his throat in the pause that followed, "Why send us if there are already some junior agents involved?"

"At first, we didn't have any information on the drug other than it was possibly being concocted. They were sent to determine the truth of those rumors and then to put as stop to the operation. However, this has turned into something bigger. Fury decided to send in backup for the agents. The Council decided the two of you were a fit."

"So everything's going to go wrong," Clint pointed out.

Maria frowned. "Barton, I know you think the Council has it out for you, but you're wrong."

"I can think of three missions that have gone wrong, most likely because we'd been sold out," Clint said. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm not very trusting."

Maria opened her mouth to respond, stopping when Phil shook his head and interrupted, "That's neither here nor there. This mission will be dangerous even if everything goes according to plan. We're going to prepare for it to all go sideways, though."

* * *

_São Paolo, Brazil—2009_

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the two junior agents standing at attention in the safe house when they arrived. They were both in their late twenties, older than both Clint and Natasha, but they observed the two assassins with a mixture of fear and respect.

Clint nodded at their bags piled against the wall in the main room instead of in a bedroom. "You didn't want to use a room?"

The man looked down, trying to hide his discomfort.

"We, uh, weren't sure what the sleeping arrangements would be, there are only three rooms," the woman said.

Clint and Natasha smirked at each other then glanced at Coulson. He rolled his eyes at them and turned to the other agents. "I take it you'd be more comfortable sharing a room with each other than with Barton or Romanoff."

"We're willing to do whatever is best," she said. "But it might be easier to remain in our partnerships."

"That's fine," Phil said. "Get you stuff put away and we'll meet back here in fifteen minutes."

Clint and Natasha glanced at the three rooms available, the other agents keeping a wide distance from them. After they chose the larger of the two rooms with two beds (the third only had a single), the agents moved into the other. The door shut behind the assassins with a click and Phil moved to his own room.

Fifteen minutes later, the group was assembled around the table in the main room.

Phil cleared his throat and looked at the quartet in front of him. "We haven't been formally introduced. I'm Phil Coulson, and as I'm sure you're aware, that's Clint Barton, Hawkeye, and Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow."

"I'm Marina Faulk," the woman said with a nod at the assassins.

"Christopher Ives," the man grunted.

"We're looking forward to working with both of you," Phil said diplomatically while his agents exchanged a look next to him. "Now, I want to make it clear that we are not here to take this mission from you, in fact, we're here as your backup. That means the two of you are going to take the lead."

Clint frowned and opened his mouth to argue, stopping when he saw Natasha shake her head slightly. The Council had ordered them to act as backup, there was no need for them to step up and start controlling the mission yet.

"That's good to hear," Ives said. "I know we could both benefit from your experience though Agent Coulson, we'd very much appreciate you giving your opinion and helping us plan."

"Обратите внимание он не упомянул обучения у нас," Natasha muttered. ( _Notice he didn't mention learning from us._ )

Clint nodded once. He'd noticed. Ives didn't seem to like them very much.

"We've read your latest reports, but I'd like you to walk us through the situation to make sure we are all on the same page," Phil said, giving Natasha a stern look. She shrugged and turned to listen to the agents as they began to speak.

"We've been here for about a month now," Ives began. "There's a drug group with ties to both HYDRA and AIM that was supposedly working on some sort of new drug. We made contact with a couple of the dealers and finally I managed to get a meeting with one of the scientists working on the formula."

"How'd you manage that?" Clint asked.

Ives narrowed his eyes at the interruption.

"He posed as a fence for another scientist who had access to some research that could help them," Faulk said, cutting into the silence before it turned awkward. "We confirmed that they were developing something with mind-control effects and that they had moved out of the theoretical stage and into testing it."

"Do you know what they plan to do with the drug?" Natasha asked.

Faulk glanced at her sullen partner before speaking, "Based on the chatter we heard when we tapped one of the dealer's phones, they intend to sell it to customers and to then weaponize it."

"Great," Clint muttered. "Do you still have a way in with the group?"

Ives shook his head, "We managed to bug one disposable phone and that's it. It's difficult to get access to the warehouse they're using."

"What's the plan?" Phil demanded, wondering if the agents in front of him had thought beyond this moment.

"We need to get inside the warehouse and take out their operation," Faulk said.

Ives nodded, "Since we've got some backup now, it actually seems feasible. We'll need someone on the outside to keep watch while at least two people infiltrate the warehouse. They keep the exterior of the building guarded at all times, we haven't gotten inside yet to see what it looks like for guards there. But we assume they're prepared for a large assault."

"So you've got the beginning of a plan," Natasha deadpanned. She sent an exasperated look at Clint and Phil and stood up to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"Well it's a bit more than the beginning of a plan," Faulk stated, trying to win over the assassins.

Clint shook his head and chuckled, "Here's a lesson for you, plans that vague tend to go horribly awry. We'll need to run a lot more surveillance it sounds like before we consider going after the building."

Phil nodded, "Barton, Romanoff, get the location from Faulk and Ives. The two of you can start that surveillance now."

Clint groaned, "C'mon Phil, we just landed."

His handler's emotionless stare had Clint standing up and nodding at Natasha as he moved to gather his gear from the bedroom.

* * *

After two weeks observing the facility both with and without Ives and Faulk, Clint and Natasha were starting to warm up to the junior agents. It had taken time, but Ives had gotten over some of his fear towards the assassins and Faulk had started to stand up for her opinions, not just agreeing with what the others were saying.

Clint had told Natasha the night before that he thought they had potential, they were just inexperienced.

She'd laughed and pointed out that at one point, he was just as inexperienced.

The four agents were planning to get an early start on the day, prepping for a while longer before heading out for a day of surveillance on the warehouse. The plan was that Natasha and Ives would attempt to enter the facility in order to plant some bugs. Clint and Faulk would stay outside, circling the perimeter and searching for any signs of trouble. With any luck, they'd succeed and save themselves several days of theorizing what exactly would be waiting them when they breached the facility.

When Natasha stepped out of the room she shared with Clint, dressed and ready for the day, she saw her partner and Phil talking in the kitchen. She wandered over, accepting the large mug of tea Clint pressed into her hands. Phil obediently flipped over the sausage patties cooking in the skillet when Clint gestured for him to.

"I found a waffle maker," Clint told Natasha with a cheery grin.

She smirked, "I see that. What's with the full breakfast?"

Clint shrugged, "I woke up early. Felt like cooking. This is what we had."

Natasha appraised him, taking another sip of tea. She'd felt him leave in the early hours of the morning, but wasn't sure if it was a nightmare that had propelled him out of bed.

Clint smiled when he noticed her gaze, "I'm good. Just couldn't sleep any longer."

She nodded accepting the answer.

Faulk and Ives emerged from their room at that point. Ives nodding towards the men cooking in appreciation, "It smells great."

"Work for SHIELD long enough and you'll pick up all kinds of skills," Clint quipped, setting a stack of waffles on a plate.

The five SHIELD agents sat down around the table and began loading their plates with the food.

"I think that Ives and Romanoff should definitely infiltrate through the northwest entrance," Faulk said after a few minutes of silence.

Clint looked at the woman, "Why?"

"Based on what we can see, that side offers them the most cover from both internal and external eyes," Faulk said.

Clint appraised her for a moment before nodding.

Natasha looked at Ives for confirmation that he was okay with that decision. After all, they were the ones who would be doing the actual infiltration.

"How long do you plan to spend inside?" Phil asked.

"No more than an hour," Ives said with a glance at Natasha. She didn't contradict him. "We'll only stay as long as it takes to plant some bugs and cameras and get a feel of the place. The first sign of trouble and we'll head out."

"Don't risk yourselves for this," Phil counseled. "This is purely an information gathering assignment."

"We'll be fine," Natasha said.

The computer set up on the edge of the kitchen counter started to beep, drawing the attention of the five sitting at the table.

"Is that…?" Faulk trailed off.

Phil nodded and moved to stand in front of the computer, "The proximity alarm."

Clint and Natasha were already halfway to their room by the time Faulk and Ives started moving.

Phil grabbed his gun and stood facing the door when the other agents returned, armed to the teeth and in uniform. "It could be nothing."

Clint snorted.

"Easy," Phil ordered as they heard movement outside the door. "No need to jump to conclusions."

The movement outside the door stopped. Faulk and Ives started to lower their weapons, they returned to alertness when the assassins shook their heads. Phil stepped away from the door, moving towards the computer monitoring the alarms they'd set up.

A loud boom sent the door flying inward, nearly missing Ives. Smoke billowed into the house, obscuring the agents' vision. Clint blinked hard, nocking an arrow and sending it flying out the door towards the men charging in. They wore standard tactical gear: black armor and helmets obscuring their faces, holding assault rifles. Clint noticed a small yellow target stitched onto the left sleeve of every soldier.

They opened fire.

Clint cursed and backed up.

"We need to get out of here," Natasha called, shooting at the attackers. "We're compromised."

"Rendezvous point three," Phil called, hastily shoving the classified information into the burn box in the kitchen and the computers into his bag. "Faulk and Ives go."

The junior agents didn't hesitate. They took off for their room, each grabbing their duffle (only half-packed) and climbing out the window. Once on the ground, they hurried away from the safe house and to the rendezvous point, obeying orders.

Inside, Clint nodded to Natasha and Phil, telling them he'd cover while they started to go. Natasha ducked into their room and slung the two bags over her shoulder. Neither had bothered to unpack. Phil threw a backpack containing his things on and picked up one of the guns from the safe house armory.

He led the way through the back of the house and, eyes watering from the smoke that had filled the building. Natasha stayed close, watching for signs of an ambush. Clint followed several feet behind his friends, walking backwards and sending arrows at the attacking soldiers when they tried to advance.

Rounding a corner, he turned to Phil and Natasha for a moment, "It's AIM. We've got to go now."

"Shit," Phil said, hurrying towards the back door. He paused for a moment, glancing out the small window before pushing it open and stepping around the corner, gun drawn and ready. Natasha was a step behind, her own weapon out to take on any threats.

Clint exited the building and moved to take the lead. Natasha pulled a grenade out of one of the bags she carried, pulled the pin, and tossed it through the door, kicking it shut as she did. The trio bolted down the street putting as much distance between them and the house as possible.

It was still early, the sky just starting to lighten as the sun broke through the morning clouds. No one was out yet. A small explosion reached their ears. The grenade had gone off, hopefully taking some of the attackers with it.

"Wait," Natasha called as they came to a corner. Clint and Phil had started to turn towards the rendezvous point already.

The two men stopped and turned to her.

"They knew where we were, odds are they know where our rendezvous points are," she said.

Clint's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. "Ives and Faulk could be walking into a trap."

She nodded.

Phil looked thoughtful. "We have to go meet them though. We're not leaving them to get caught."

Natasha spoke again, "I'm not saying we should leave them, but we need to be strategic in how we go about this. It wouldn't do for us to walk into the same trap."

"Okay, so we don't head straight there," Clint decided. When no one disagreed with him he continued. "Let's head somewhere else and we'll drop our stuff. Then we head to the rendezvous and hope that Ives and Faulk are there. We'll be better prepared if we do that."

"Any idea on where to go?" Phil asked.

Natasha smirked, "Actually, yes. There's a hotel a couple of miles away, relatively close to the site, that doesn't ask questions and definitely caters to a seedy crowd. We can get a room there for a few days without arousing any suspicion."

"You're sure?" Phil said.

She nodded, "Yes. I've used it before. The owners are good at keeping quiet, they'd lose all their business if they weren't."

"Let's go," Clint said. He checked around the corner and started moving again, working to stay in the shadows, bow held at the ready.

"Take a right up here," Natasha instructed from the back.

* * *

They'd reached the hotel easily enough, managed to get a room and ensure the silence of the employee working the desk as well as the owners with a large bonus to their payment. After clearing the room, they'd dropped their stuff and headed over to the meeting place with Faulk and Ives.

Drawing close, they realized that Natasha had been right. Several people dressed in combat gear stood on the street corners around the location. Clint nodded up to the roofs, figuring they'd be able to at least get eyes on the situation from there. The other two followed him readily to the rooftop of the tallest building in the area.

"No one ever thinks to post guards on roofs," Clint said with a triumphant grin when the stepped outside.

Natasha ignored him and moved over to the edge of the building, keeping low to avoid notice. She peered down and frowned. Ives and Faulk were kneeling on the ground, hands behind their heads while two men point rifles at them. One man—who appeared to be the commander of the group—stood off to the side, talking with someone on the phone.

"They're waiting for something," she said.

"Us." Clint looked troubled as he watched the scene unfold.

"I've got an idea," Phil said. "Romanoff is going to walk into it and distract them. I'll move closer from the opposite direction and the two of us will get Faulk and Ives out. Clint, stay up here and keep eyes on the situation. You'll keep us updated through the comms and when one of us signals, you'll start shooting."

Clint hesitated before nodding. He didn't love this plan, but it was the best they had. Phil and Natasha could handle themselves.

Natasha sent him a small smile as she darted down the stairs with Phil.

She stood in a dark corner, watching the sun appear and burn off the clouds. They didn't have long before the AIM team would call it a failure and move out.

"I'm in position," Phil said over the line.

"Copy," Natasha replied. "I'm going in."

"Бе осторожны," Clint told her.  _(Be careful.)_

Natasha walked out of her hiding spot bold as could be. She ignored the surprised guard as she passed him, walking into the alley were Ives and Faulk were being held.

"Olá, rapazes," she said with a condescending smirk. "Você olhando para mim?"  _(Hello, boys. You looking for me?)_

The men pulled their weapons up and began shouting in rapid Portuguese to each other, wondering how she'd gotten so close without them being warned. The leader gestured for the men to be quiet.

"Miss Widow," he said, his British accent clear. "We've been waiting for you. To be honest, I was beginning to doubt if you'd come help your fellow agents. Wouldn't it be easier to just leave them?"

Natasha stayed silent.

"Of course, they're not the ones we're after. Where are Hawkeye and Phil Coulson?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the man.

He chuckled, "Of course, you aren't going to tell us right away. That would be too easy. Let me help, if you don't tell me in the next thirty seconds, my men send a bullet through the man's skull."

"You think I care?" she said scornfully. "You forget who I am—the Black Widow. I don't appreciate being threatened, especially by such an ineffective threat."

"Ineffective?" the man asked, clearly disagreeing with her assessment.

"See, if you kill him, that leaves you with one hostage. Say you threaten to kill her, and I still refuse to comply, so you kill her. Then you're out of leverage and still have no information."

"Not even you could be so callous."

Natasha looked at the agents on the ground, both watching her in apprehension.

She shrugged and turned back to the man. "Black. Widow."

The man looked unsure.

Natasha pulled a knife out of her belt, stepping closer and drawing the attention of everyone in the alley. She ignored the flicker of movement she saw as Phil entered the area. "Here's how this is going to work," she said. "You're going to let them go, you're going to tell me what I want to know, and then you're going to hope I don't decide to kill all of you anyway."

The British man regained some of his confidence, thinking he had a bargaining chip, "What do you want to know?"

"Who told you where to find us?" Natasha asked.

The man smirked, "Oh no, that won't do. I can assure you that you will not be getting the name of our employer. Just know, that someone wants you very dead, and I intend to deliver."

Natasha sighed, "I had hoped you'd cooperate."

She tossed her knife forward, hitting the man between the eyes and sending him to the ground, dead before impact.

In the same moment, Phil took a quick shot at one of the men standing over Faulk and Ives, incapacitating him. The other one sprouted an arrow from his stomach a fraction of a second later.

Natasha pulled out her gun and shot two of the five remaining men. The other three turned away and started running. She hesitated for a moment, considering running after them.

"Let them go," Phil said from where he was helping Faulk and Ives gather their things. "They're not the priority right now."

Natasha nodded and moved to help. She escorted the shaking agents away from the scene and towards the hotel, listening as Phil told Clint to meet them there.

Once in the hotel, she turned to the two agents, "You two okay?"

They nodded, Ives trembling slightly, looking at her with a mix of fear and respect once again.

"I take it that was your first time held at gunpoint?" Phil said with a wry smile to the two.

"Yeah, we didn't expect them at all. They just appeared," Faulk said with a grimace.

"Don't beat yourself up," Clint said as he breezed into the room. "It happens to everyone. You'll get used to it and learn to see the signs or at least have a plan."

He sat down on the chair and opened a bottle of water.

"Would you have let them kill us?" Ives blurted at Natasha.

She turned to look at him, cocking her head to the side. "There's something you need to understand about me, I was trained from a very young age to be ruthless. I would have tried to prevent them killing you, but in the end I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize mission success just to save your life. You should learn that lesson."

The man frowned and looked away.

"Romanoff is right," Phil said gently. "We're all expendable in favor of mission success. It's an unfortunate truth, but one that I suggest you learn to live with sooner rather than later."

The junior agents remained silent, considering their career choice.

"Here's the deal," Phil said with a heavy sigh, moving to stand in the center of the room.

Faulk and Ives looked at him from their seat on the bed. Clint lifted his head from his place sitting backwards on the chair, arms resting on the back. Natasha leaned back against the table beside Clint, eyes glued to Phil.

"Our mission has obviously been compromised," he continued. "We are under no obligation to continue if we deem it too risky. With AIM hunting us and someone revealing classified information, it's best to assume that the warehouse will be a trap. I leave it up to the two of you," he gestured to Faulk and Ives, "to decide if we continue or not. We can call for an extraction and no one will think less of anyone."

The two agents looked at each other, both debating the pros and cons of staying.

Ives spoke up first, "We've come this far, it seems wrong to just leave the mission and give up."

Phil nodded and looked at Faulk. The woman took a deep breath and nodded, "Let's do it."

He looked to Clint and Natasha, both giving him a single nod in agreement. They were in, as he'd assumed.

"Okay, let's get to work."

"I think we should ditch our plan of getting inside the warehouse to run surveillance," Clint said.

Natasha nodded, "We can probably hack the city's archives and find a general floor plan for it, that'll save us some time. But having to go in a second time is too big a risk to take."

"Next thing, I think all three of you should go in. Phil can manage the operation from here and I'll stay outside in watch," Clint said. "If we're going in blind, the more people we send the better."

"Agreed," said Phil. He examined the agents in front of him and nodded. They could make this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave me a comment! I'm working on the next chapter right now and hope it'll be done by tomorrow.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: The lock released with a quiet snick and Natasha stood up.
> 
> "We're entering the facility," Ives reported.
> 
> Natasha opened the door and stepped inside, the other two right behind her.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lisaj266, Angie_Martinelli, and Rachel for reviewing! And because I was asked, yes, I do have a Tumblr, it's kelcysaurus.tumblr.com.

Red Room, Unknown Location—1994

"Natalia," said a sharp voice from behind her.

The little girl spun around, brushing away the tears that had been running down her face. It had been only a few months since her parents' deaths and she missed them. That wasn't allowed though. She should be stronger than that according to her teachers. Natalia hated the Red Room; she just wanted to go home.

"Natalia," the girl repeated.

Natalia glared up at her, daring her to comment. It was Yelena, a girl a year or two older than her.

"You miss your family?" Yelena asked.

Natalia hesitated before nodding. There was no reason to deny it, she was either in trouble or she wasn't.

Yelena sat down next to Natalia, patting the floor beside her for the other girl to do the same. Natalia sank to the floor, still wary.

"Me too," Yelena said. "A lot of us do."

"Really?"

Yelena nodded.

The two girls sat in silence for a few minutes before Yelena stood, giving Natalia a small smile, "You aren't alone Natalia."

Natalia remained seated as the other girl walked away, feeling a little bit better.

São Paolo, Brazil—2009

They'd spent nine days planning and keeping an eye on the facility before Clint and Natasha felt comfortable with an attempt to breach it. During those nine days, the group had bounced from seedy hotel to seedy hotel to stay under the radar. Phil was the only one who'd had any contact with SHIELD.

Based on the files Natasha had downloaded from the government server, they expected to walk onto the first floor and be looking down a couple of stories into the manufacturing section of the warehouse. Several levels of catwalks filled the space above and rooms of various sizes ringed the building.

Natasha wanted to find the main operations room and see if she could get any information from it as to who was behind the operation, so it had taken an extra day of theorizing and arguing to narrow the choices down to five rooms. They'd ruled out the others based on size or location.

Natasha stood outside the hotel, checking the straps on her thigh holsters, tugging to ensure they were securely fastened. Clint came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, the two relaxing for a moment before pulling apart. They'd had to be very careful about their behavior to keep Ives and Faulk from noticing. This was one of the few moments they'd had alone since the attack on the safe house.

"How are you?" Natasha asked, taking in the dark circles under Clint's eyes. She knew he hadn't been sleeping well, none of them had.

He shrugged, "Tired. I don't like that I'm just going to be waiting outside while you go in alone."

"Ives and Faulk are going too," she reminded him.

Clint gave her a look. He didn't consider them capable back up for this mission. He'd told her so two days before.

"It's going to be okay," Natasha said, hoping her words didn't prove to be false. "We've got a good plan and should anything go wrong, we're prepared."

"Just promise me you will do everything in your power to walk out of that warehouse intact?" he asked.

Natasha nodded. She glanced around the empty street, pausing a moment on the front door of the hotel they were staying in (they'd offered to wait outside while Ives and Faulk got ready). Natasha stepped closer to Clint and kissed him gently. His hands slipped around her waist again, just long enough to pull her tight against him and squeeze. She pulled away, offering him a smile.

A second later, the hotel door opened and Ives and Faulk emerged, dressed in black like the assassins.

"Let's go," Clint commanded, leading the way down the street and towards the building from which he would be watching. The group split when they reached it, Clint scaling the fire escape while the other three moved around to the northwest corner, where the door they intended to use stood.

"I'm in position," Clint said over the comms.

Natasha looked at the junior agents standing next to her, both practically thrumming with nervous energy. She nodded one. "Copy, we're moving in."

Glad for the cover of darkness, Natasha led the way over to the door. She dropped to a knee and pulled out her set of lock picks, getting to work on the door while Ives and Faulk kept watch behind her.

The lock released with a quiet snick and Natasha stood up.

"We're entering the facility," Ives reported.

Natasha opened the door and stepped inside, the other two right behind her.

Inside the warehouse was dark, a few emergency lights shone from the ceiling with a handful of dim floodlights illuminating the floor. Natasha pressed against the wall, sidling away from the door. The other two followed her as closely as they could, both burdened with extra bags containing C-4. Natasha gestured towards the pair of shadowy figures visible above. Her meaning was clear to Ives and Faulk: don't get caught.

The trio split up, Ives and Faulk staying in the shadows as they circled the first floor. They would set the majority of the charges while Natasha went for the main office and laid a few of her own if she found it.

A door in the corner of the building was labeled "escada." Natasha hurried towards it, easing it open and scanning the empty stairwell. She exhaled softly, happy to see no one. So far so good. She made sure to stay silent as she climbed the concrete steps, ears straining for any sign of discovery.

"I've got movement on the southern side," Clint said through the comms.

Natasha tensed at the sudden noise.

"Permission to shoot?" Clint asked a moment later.

"Take 'em out, Hawk," Phil said.

Natasha sped up, knowing that they had just shortened their timeline. It wouldn't be long before someone realized something was wrong.

On the third level of the building, Natasha began her search for the office. The first room she checked was empty save from a few rotting boxes in the corner.

Stepping out of the room, she heard voices and cursed silently. There was nowhere to hide unless she wanted to head back into the room. Unwilling to get trapped, Natasha moved towards the voices, planning to take them out rather than risk discovery.

She was on the duo before they knew it. The first man went down with little more than a gurgle, his throat neatly split from Natasha's knife. The other man whirled to face her, bring his weapon up too slowly. She launched a hard kick at his throat, effectively crushing his windpipe. The man stumbled backwards, grabbing at his throat and gasping for air. He hit the low railing for the walkway and tumbled over.

Natasha didn't stay to watch him fall the rest of the way. A loud thump when he landed confirmed his death for her.

"Hurry it up," she whispered into the comms. "We're going to have company soon."

"Five down outside the building," Clint reported.

Natasha nodded to herself, time was definitely not on their side.

She scrambled across the walkways, headed to the opposite side of the floor and the next potential office area.

Two more guards on patrol appeared from another stairwell, coming to check on the reason behind their comrade's fall. Natasha dispatched them quickly.

"Two men down," Ives said in a hushed tone over the line.

"Four on my end," Natasha replied. Their body count was skyrocketing. There were more people inside than they'd expected.

"Someone's bound to notice the missing soon," Clint said. Natasha could hear the stress in his voice.

The door to the room was locked, something Natasha took as a good sign. People didn't lock doors if there wasn't something worth protecting inside. She picked it quickly, closing the door behind her and grinning as she took in the dim room. A large table stood in the middle with chairs scattered around it. It was covered in papers.

Natasha glanced behind her and decided to risk a light. Speed was the most important thing at the moment.

She flipped the light switch on and moved to the head of the table. Most of the documents were in English or Russian, a few in Portuguese, and a couple more in other languages. Natasha recognized German and French. She grabbed the ones labeled "confidential" and "top secret," skimming the others. Based on what she was seeing, this was the second position for the organization. The other was somewhere in Chechnya, referred to as "Alpha Site" in all of the files.

When she found a list of names, she grabbed it and folded it up with the rest of the papers. She shoved the pile of papers down the front of her uniform, planning to look at them in more detail later. Crouching in the corners of the room, she set four explosives and moved to leave.

"You're about to have company," Clint said. "I can see three different teams prepping to enter the building, I can't get them all."

"Are the charges set?" Natasha demanded.

"Almost done," Faulk replied. "Just need to get the central area and we're out."

"Meet at the exit," Natasha instructed.

She turned off the light and opened the door, closing it softly behind her.

"O que você está fazendo?" asked a voice from behind her. (What are you doing?)

Natasha froze for a moment before lifting her hands and turning around. Four guards watched her with their weapons drawn. She flashed them an innocent smile. "Sinto muito, devo ter se perdido." (I'm sorry, I must have gotten lost.)

"Pesquisar ela," the speaker commanded his companion. (Search her.)

Natasha remained still as two of the four approached her. When they were close enough, she grabbed the first, spinning him around and clinging to his neck. The two farther away opened fire, peppering their companion with bullets. Natasha kicked out at the other man approaching her, sending him stumbling backwards.

When the gunfire stopped as they reloaded, Natasha dropped the body and withdrew her own gun. She shot the two busy with their rifles, the second shot going wide, only hitting the man in the leg when the third had charged her and knocked her off balance.

Natasha spun and cracked the man across the jaw with the butt of her pistol. She grabbed her spare and drove the barrel into his ribs, squeezing the trigger. He fell back with a shout. The final man was bringing his gun up to bear on her from his position on the ground. Natasha stalked towards him, putting a bullet between his eyes.

She placed a pack of C-4 on his chest and hurried to the stairs. Gunfire echoed from the first floor.

"I'm on my way down."

"Copy, we're taking fire in the center of the basement," Faulk reported. "Request assistance."

"On my way," Natasha said.

Clint's voice interrupted, "I've got a dozen or so hostiles ringing the building. I need to descend to get all of them."

"Negative, Hawkeye," Phil said. "Stay in position."

Natasha could picture Clint's reaction to that having to stay put when others were in danger.

She descended the stairs quickly, happy to encounter no one. On the lower level, she followed the sound of the gunfire, coming to a stop twenty feet away from Faulk and Ives. They seemed to have their backs to a large machine, probably the one in which the drug was mass-produced.

"Máscaras!" yelled one of the soldiers when he caught sight of Natasha. (Masks!)

She only had a moment to ponder his meaning before the men stopped shooting and pulled on gas masks.

Shit, her brain screamed. They were about to get gassed.

"Faulk, Ives, get out now," Natasha commanded.

They hesitated for less than a second, but it was too late. The soldiers all pulled out canisters, pulling the release tab and rolling them forward. Sweet-smelling clouds of fog billowed out, obscuring the SHIELD agents' vision and impairing their breathing.

Natasha took a deep breath and committed herself to holding it for as long as possible. Faulk and Ives had started moving towards her on her order. She watched as Faulk collapsed. Ives grabbed her and hauled her with him, towards Natasha.

The woman was convulsing when the pair reached Natasha's hiding spot.

"She's seizing," Ives said, panic seeping into his eyes.

Natasha reached out and grabbed Faulk's shoulder, hoping to steady her enough to get a pulse. Saliva frothed at the corner of her mouth, her eyes were wide and unresponsive.

"We have to help her," Ives said. He seemed lost.

The gas didn't seem toxic, Ives was okay. Faulk was probably having an abnormal reaction to something in it. Natasha released her breath and shook her head, "How? We have to wait until it stops before we can get her out."

The soldiers started firing again.

Natasha's head was beginning to swim.

Ives's eyes were wide and red-rimmed.

"They dosed us with whatever that new drug is," Natasha told him. "We need to focus."

Faulk suddenly stopped moving. Natasha pressed her fingers against the woman's neck, feeling for a pulse.

"Is she okay?" Ives asked.

Natasha looked at him and shook her head. "Faulk is dead," she said, hoping that Clint and Phil would hear.

Tears started to leak from Ives's eyes.

"We've got to focus," Natasha repeated, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it.

"Focus, right," Ives said, his voice fading.

"Come out with your hands up," one of the soldiers demanded in English.

Ives started to stand.

Natasha grabbed him and pulled him back to a kneeling position. "What the hell are you doing?"

"They told us to come out with our hands up."

Natasha began to feel the compulsion he must have to do exactly as she was told. "It's the drug, Ives. You've got to fight it."

"Fight it. Okay."

The soldiers let a spray of bullets fly towards their hiding spot. Natasha managed to duck out from behind one of the cylinders and injure a couple of the shooters.

"Romanoff," Phil's voice filtered weakly through her mind. She ignored it, needing to focus on the fight.

"Come out with your hands up!" the man repeated.

Ives started to move again.

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed him, focusing on getting out. It was just like when the Red Room used to brainwash her. She could fight it off.

Without waiting any longer, Natasha grabbed Ives and headed for the stairs. She dragged him inside and shut the door behind them. A pile of brooms and mops lay abandoned in the corner. Natasha grabbed them and shoved them through the handle of the door, hoping it would hold for at least a few minutes. She could hear the shuffling of soldiers on the other side of the door.

Ives stood at the bottom of the stairs, slumped and dejected.

"We are going to leave," Natasha told him. "You are going to follow me up the stairs and then we are going to get to the nearest door and leave, got it?"

He nodded mechanically, eyes unfocused.

Natasha took a deep breath.

"Natasha!" Clint yelled through the comms, catching her attention. She realized that her partner and handler had been trying to hail her for the last couple of minutes.

"We got dosed with an aerosol version of the drug," she explained. "Faulk is dead, Ives is with me. He's taking any order he hears. I need to focus to keep myself from giving in to it."

"I'll come find you," Clint said.

"No," Natasha ground out beginning to walk up the stairs. She couldn't wait any longer. "If we're not out in ten minutes, blow the place."

At the top of the stairs, the door stood cracked open. Only fifteen feet to the right stood their exit. Seven soldiers crouched behind a makeshift barricade of boxes and wooden palettes, ready to fire should they appear.

"I need you to clear the east door," Natasha told Clint.

"On it."

She took a deep breath and pulled Ives towards the door.

Seeing movement on the other side, one of the men decided to speak, "Come out with your hands up and we won't shoot."

Ives jerked out of Natasha's grasp and stepped outside. He turned to her expectantly when she didn't step out as well, "See, they're not going to hurt us."

"Christopher," Natasha snapped.

He frowned and looked at her.

"Remember our plan? We're leaving. So leave."

Ives took three steps towards the door before stopping, he couldn't figure out which order to obey.

"Christopher," Natasha said authoritatively. "As the ranking SHIELD agent here, I order you to exit the building."

He started towards the door again. Natasha risked stepping into view of the shooters.

"Stay where you are," the guard commanded.

Ives froze.

"Door is clear," Clint said.

"You in the stairs," the man continued. "Come out with your hands up."

Natasha was half a step out of the stairwell when she stopped herself. She wasn't going to give in to them.

"Matá-lo, vamos levá-la em breve," the man said. (Kill him, we'll get her soon enough.)

"Ives, leave now," Natasha screamed.

The soldiers opened fire as he stepped towards the exit again. Ives collapsed on the ground.

Natasha pulled a grenade off her belt and tossed it out the door, surprising the guards. They moved away from it, allowing her to slip out and grab Ives. She dragged him to the door, shouldering it open and stepping outside.

The man was bleeding heavily from several bullet wounds, his breathing labored.

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

Natasha shook her head and stood, unable to do anything for him. His eyes dulled as the life fled from his body.

"Ives is dead," she announced, frozen in place.

"I'm on my way down," Clint said. "Meet you at the rendezvous point."

A Rooftop, São Paolo, Brazil—2009

Clint peered down through the darkness to the doorway he'd just cleared of soldiers. He was waiting for Natasha to emerge. She had one minute until her self-inflicted deadline hit. Clint had every intention of ignoring her orders and going down to save her, regardless of what Phil said. He wouldn't blow that building while Natasha was still inside.

Forty seconds later, she emerged, dragging a body. Clint released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he watched her step away from the building.

"Ives is dead," she said. The icy chill in his heart thawed a bit at hearing her voice.

"I'm on my way down," he replied. "Meet you at the rendezvous point."

She turned away from the building and Clint realized his mistake, if she'd been dosed, Natasha was easily influenced right now. She'd probably forgotten all about destroying the building.

"I'll blow the building once you're away," he said, hoping she would keep moving and get herself to safety.

Natasha nodded and hurried away.

Clint moved to the fire escape and began to climb down. With two floors left to go, he threw himself back towards the wall. A fraction of a second later, bullets began pinging around him.

"Fuck," he swore.

"Hawkeye?" Phil asked. He'd been quiet for the last few minutes.

"I've been made. Got hostiles below me."

"Do you want Romanoff to come help?"

"No," Clint shook his head emphatically; he couldn't worry about her. "I can handle this."

He reached into the center of his quiver and pulled out one of his explosive arrows, risking a glance below to gage his enemies' whereabouts, Clint pulled the bowstring back and released the weapon. It buried itself in one of the men. He pressed a button on the side of his bow and the explosive detonated, sending heat and viscera flying towards the group. Several yelled in surprise and disgust.

Without waiting, Clint pulled himself onto the railing and dropped down the two stories to the rest of the soldiers. He rolled as he landed, coming up with two arrows nocked. They flew straight into two of the remaining handful. Then the rest were on him.

Clint started wielding his bow like a staff, knocking the men away from him when they got to close. He pulled out his knife and jammed it into one man's chest. A sharp hit across the temple from his bow brought down another. The last two eyed him with a healthy amount of wariness, careful to stay out of range of his bow. Clint grabbed his gun and shot the closer of the two while the second brought up his own weapon. A second bullet took care of the other man.

Scrambling away from the scene, Clint assessed the damage. Just some cuts and bruises it seemed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the C-4 detonators. He flipped the switch and watched in satisfaction as the warehouse was engulfed in a ball of flame.

"The warehouse is gone," Clint said. "I'm going to meet Romanoff."

"Copy," Phil said.

Clint found himself starting to worry when Natasha didn't respond to the brief exchange. He picked up his pace as he raced through the empty streets to meet her.

Natasha was slumped against the wall of the alley they'd decided to meet in, barely conscious when Clint arrived. He knelt beside her, reaching out to cup her chin and draw her eyes to him when she didn't look up. Her pupils were dilated, eyes red-rimmed. She blinked lethargically.

"Clint?"

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, heart breaking at how helpless she looked. "We're gonna get you out of here."

"Can't go," she said.

"Why not?" Clint was suddenly worried that she had gotten severely injured. He studied her closely, relieved when he saw no signs of trauma.

"They're after me. If I go they'll find me and I can't go back."

"Who is after you? Go back where?"

She looked at him as if he should already know the answer. "Красная комната." (Red Room.)

Clint shook his head, trying to figure it out, "They can't get you, Tasha. You're free of the Red Room."

"Никогда бесплатно. Никогда не ушел," she intoned. (Never free. Never gone.)

"Phil," Clint said into the comms, hoping his handler would immediately hear the desperation in his voice.

"What happened?" the man demanded.

"That drug, it's definitely affecting Natasha. There's a hotel a couple of blocks away, I'm going to get her there and we'll lay low until it gets out of her system," Clint said.

"Clint, if she's compromised we need to get her out of here," Phil said.

Clint shook his head, "You don't understand, I don't want her anywhere near you or SHIELD right now, she thinks she's still with the Red Room."

"Jesus Clint, that doesn't make me want to let you stay alone with her."

"She knows who I am and hasn't done anything. Phil, she's huddled against the wall terrified they're going to find her."

"Twelve hours," Phil said after a moment. "After that, I'm calling for an extraction and we're leaving. As far as I'm concerned, we've successfully completed this mission and should leave now."

"Twelve hours," Clint agreed. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

He turned back to Natasha, who was now staring past him as if he wasn't there. Clint looked back to make sure there wasn't anyone behind him. He reached out slowly and took Natasha's hand. Her head snapped down to look at him.

"Hey, Tasha," he said. "We're going to go somewhere safe right now."

"Nowhere is safe," she breathed.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

Natasha nodded.

"Then trust me now, I will keep you safe, the Red Room can't get to you."

She allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead the way out of the alley. Natasha was trembling, Clint noticed, and she didn't let go of his hand. He led her to the hotel he knew of, a bit nicer than the one's they'd been staying in, having her wait on the side of the building for him. The concierge looked skeptical when he asked for a room, but the hundred-dollar bill slid across the desk convinced him to keep quiet. He even told Clint where to find the back door.

Clint returned to Natasha and led her around the back of the building, up a couple of flights of stairs, and into their room. It was small, but clean and the water in the shower ran clear when he turned it on.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said to Natasha.

Her eyes were empty as she stripped off her suit, setting a wad of papers she pulled from it gently on the bedside table. She stood naked in front of him, not meeting his eyes.

Clint stepped closer and reached out to touch her arm. She flinched and he drew back.

"Natasha," he said, mentally cursing at himself. "I promise I won't hurt you. I just want you to get cleaned up so I can make sure you aren't hurt."

Natasha moved to the bathroom without a word. Clint kept an eye on her but picked up the papers on the table. He unfolded them and smoothed them, glancing up to see Natasha washing the dirt and blood off herself. She seemed lost.

Clint's eyes widened as he skimmed over the papers in front of him. This was everything they could have hoped to find on the group. He moved to stand in the doorway of the bathroom, "Nat, what are these?"

She shrugged, standing beneath the water. "I found them in the warehouse."

"Hmmm…" Clint hummed and stepped away. He heard the water shut off a second later and Natasha emerged dripping, wrapped in a thin towel. He grabbed the second towel and helped her dry off a bit more. She shivered in the cool air of the hotel. Clint looked around, finding a threadbare hotel robe in the closet. He wrapped her in it and led her over to the bed.

"I think you found the documents containing everything we need to bring down the entire organization."

"Oh. I guess that's good," she said.

Clint nodded and glanced at the clock, it was late. "Get some sleep, Tasha, we'll figure the rest out in the morning."

Natasha lay down and obediently closed her eyes. Clint sighed and took a seat across from the bed. He began to read the papers.

"Barton, sit-rep," Phil demanded a few minutes later.

"Well the drug's mind control effects work," he said with a frown at his sleeping partner. "Natasha has done everything I told her to without question."

"Damn," Phil said. "How's she doing?"

"She's sleeping. Phil, she managed to grab a bunch of papers from the facility, we've got the entire organization. It looks like the main place of operation is in Chechnya. There's a HYDRA logo on a couple of these forms."

"That just makes me more determined that none of use go near this thing," Phil replied. "Come the morning, we're leaving and heading home. Fury can handle the papers and their contents."

"I want in on the takedown," Clint said. "I'm willing to bet that Nat will too."

"We'll see."

"Based on the documents," Clint continued. "There are four high-ranking men visiting the city…"

"No," Phil said. "Don't even think about it. We leave in the morning."

"I think we should go after them. Our mission was to take out the organization and stop the manufacturing of the drug."

"What part of no do you not understand?" Phil sighed. "Call me when Romanoff wakes up."

With the conversation finished, Clint stayed seated for the next hour, engrossed in translating the documents he could. Natasha's choked cry startled him to his feet. She thrashed on the bed.

"Natasha," Clint called. He moved towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "Tasha it's okay, you're safe."

Another strangled scream escaped from her. She shot upright, sobbing in garbled Russian and punching at him. Clint caught her flailing arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cried, struggling against Clint's grip. "I'll be better, I won't mess up anymore."

Clint moved to lie down, pulling her with him. Natasha curled against his chest, body heaving with the force of her sobs.

"Shh," Clint said, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I'll be good," she continued. "I promise, just don't hurt them."

"Hurt who?" Clint asked, curious what she was imagining.

"The other girls, my friends," she replied, pleading drawing out her Russian accent.

"No one is getting hurt," Clint said. "You're safe, you're okay."

After a few minutes, her breathing started to even out. Natasha opened her eyes and looked at Clint, seeming to recognize him for the first time. "Clint?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"I don't know what's real and what's not," she said softly. "Are you real?"

"I'm real." The rumble she felt echo through his chest at his words helped convince her of their truth.

"Did you get the papers?"

He nodded, "I did. There are four leaders of the organization in the city tonight, Phil wants us to leave them and go home as soon as possible."

Natasha shook her head, "We can't. We have to get them before they can hurt anyone else with this drug."

"How are you feeling?"

She pressed closer to him, curling in on herself slightly, "Achey and my head is pounding. At least I'm able to think clearly for the moment."

"You were pleading for them to not hurt the other girls?" Clint prompted.

Silence descended upon the room for several minutes.

"When I was young, during my first year or two in the Red Room, some of us became friends. We helped the new girls and each other. Ivan found out and decided that whenever we merited punishment he would hurt the others. It was meant to teach us the dangers of friends, how they could be used against us. I haven't thought about it in years…"

Clint looked down to see tears leaking out of her eyes.

"The hallucinations are the worst part of this drug," she continued. "While I was waiting for you at the rendezvous point, I was convinced they were after me, that I'd failed in my first mission. And it wasn't just the Red Room hunting me, it was SHIELD and Interpol and everyone who I'd hurt over the years. It's like my worst nightmares have come to life."

"Did you sleep at all?"

She nodded, "It didn't feel like I had a choice. You told me to sleep so I did."

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair, hating himself for forcing her to do anything.

"Don't blame yourself," she replied. "I trust you not to make me do anything I wouldn't normally do. Sleeping helped until that damn dream."

"Still… Are you still feeling the mind-control effects?"

Natasha thought for a moment before shrugging, "I don't think so but I don't know for sure. I managed to fight it for a while. Only way to be sure is to have you tell me to do something."

Clint studied her for a moment before smiling slightly at her, "Kiss me?"

She hesitated before leaning up and pressing her lips against his for a brief moment. When she pulled back she smiled, "I felt compelled to do it but managed to push that away long enough to choose it for myself."

Clint nodded, "I'll try not to tell you to do anything until it completely wears off."

"Thank you," Natasha said sincerely.

The pair laid in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. "We should go after those four members now."

Clint shook his head, "Not until you're functioning again. I don't want you put in danger because some idiot tells you to do something. We can reassess once the drug has worn off all the way."

She started to argue before shaking her head, he was right. "Stay with me?" she asked, allowing herself to be pulled back towards sleep.

"Of course," Clint promised.

Natasha fell asleep quickly.

The cold seemed to have seeped into every inch of her being. Natasha shivered and looked at the barren landscape around her. Everything was covered in ice and blowing snow. Her bare feet, thin gray pants, and matching cotton tank top did little to protect her from the searing wind.

She wrapped her arms around herself and started walking. She looked up to see if the stars could guide her at all. Nothing but a black void hung above her. The white around her was blinding, the black above threatening.

Natasha forced down the panic she felt. She wouldn't give into it. She could do this, she could handle whatever they threw at her. The longer she walked without seeing a sign of life, the more Natasha began to feel this wasn't a Red Room simulation. She was being watched though, of that she was certain.

Sudden wetness made her look down to the red spilling out across her stomach from the arrow protruding there. She pressed her hands against the wound, falling to her knees.

It should hurt. Wasn't it supposed to hurt?

She hadn't heard or seen any sign of the shooter. In fact, she hadn't heard anything since arriving in this strange world. She crumpled backwards, staring up at the darkness above.

The cold managed to push deeper into her body. It almost felt warm now.

Was this what death was like? She'd expected it to hurt more, to make more of an impression. Instead, she just felt cold. And alone.

The sudden wave of loneliness left her gasping for air. How had she never noticed before? She was alone in death as she had been in life. It wasn't fair! She hadn't asked for this life, she'd just wanted to be a ballerina…

Natasha sat up in bed, eyes wide with panic. She was cold, the bed beside her empty. She let out a cry as she kicked aside the blankets and tumbled out of bed. Her legs unsteady as she made her way to the door. Where was Clint? He'd promised!

She fumbled with the handle, pulling the door open and nearly running right into Clint. He looked at her, blue eyes filled with concern.

"Tasha what's wrong?"

Natasha wrapped her arms around him, afraid to let go and lose him again.

Clint walked them back into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.

"You left," she whispered against his chest.

Clint felt his chest constrict at her words. He stroked her hair and held her close, realizing how cold she was. "I'm sorry, Phil called and I didn't want to wake you so I went out to the hall."

"I was so alone," she murmured.

Realization that she must have had another dream dawned on him. "You never have to be alone again, I'm here. You've got Phil, hell even Fury and Hill like you. Sanders, Patrick, Parilla. You're part of SHIELD now, part of the family."

Natasha's trembling subsided after a few minutes and she stepped back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Tell me what to do," she said.

Clint blinked once, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. "Walk to the bathroom."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head. With a smirk, her green eyes met his, "No."

Clint couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "So the drug has worn off?"

"The whole reality versus fiction thing is still a little iffy, but I'm not taking orders from anyone anymore," she said.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," she said. When he titled his head down, demanding more information she continued. "Still achey and a bit nauseated, but okay. I'm cold, so the withdrawal is probably starting. I've felt worse and had to do more. Let's go get those bastards and get out of here."

Clint hesitated before agreeing. He offered her her pile of clothes and nodded towards the bathroom. "I'll tell Phil."

"Didn't I just talk to you?" Phil demanded when Clint hailed him over the comms.

Clint sighed, "Yeah. Natasha's awake and not feeling the urge to follow any orders. We want to go after the four guys left."

"Clint, it's a bad idea. We don't know exactly how this drug works, the effects could resurface at anytime. Just come back here and we'll leave," Phil reasoned, hoping his agent would agree.

"Listen, give Natasha an order in a minute. If she hesitates to refuse, for even a moment, we'll come straight back and forget all about it," Clint replied.

"Fine."

A moment later, Natasha emerged from the bathroom. Clint offered her earpiece, giving her an encouraging smile when she took it.

"Coulson?" she asked.

"Romanoff," the man replied. "Do not go after the four remaining members in the city."

"We have to," she told him without hesitation. "I won't let them hurt anyone else."

Phil sighed, "I was afraid you'd say that. Just—be careful. Both of you."

"Don't worry, Phil," Clint said, slinging his quiver and bow over his back. "You'll be seeing us soon enough."

"They've booked a suite," Clint told Natasha when he returned from scoping out the hotel where their targets were staying. He'd broken into the records room to find the guest register. "Two in each room. There weren't any lights on, and I didn't hear anything, so I think it's safe to assume they're asleep. How do we want to play this?"

Natasha studied the building, trying not to curl in on herself from the chills and aches running through her body. Apparently, she was going through withdrawal. "We stay together."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Clint asked, voice tinged with concern. He knew she wasn't in great shape. "I can handle it myself if you just want to keep watch."

"I'm coming with you."

Clint acquiesced and led the way over to the building. The pair slipped inside and to the stairs without detection. Clint gestured to the suite he'd identified and stepped back to let Natasha pick the lock. Her shaking hands made the task nearly impossible, so he decided to intervene, gently lifting the picks from her hands and nudging her aside.

Natasha gave him a helpless look and stood up, keeping watch for anyone wandering around.

When the lock clicked open, Clint stood, handing her the picks and paused. When Natasha nodded at him, he opened the door and stepped inside the dim room. The solitary streetlight outside cast deep shadows over the furniture. He headed towards the room on the right, drawing a wickedly curved knife from the sheath on his lower back. Natasha followed suit. The pair crept into the room and each moved to one of the beds.

Natasha examined the man lying in front of her for a moment. She wondered which one of the four he was. Then she decided she didn't care. Her knife cut smoothly into his throat, a red trail following its movement. Blood poured out from the wound, his breathing stuttered for a moment before stopping. She stepped away from the bed and met Clint's watchful gaze from the door.

His knife glistened in his hand. With a nod, he led the way across the suite and into the other room.

The assassins opened the door and moved towards the beds, freezing when one of the men rolled and sat up. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the figures standing inside.

"Who…?" he started to ask, raising his arms to defend himself. Clint lurched forward and knocked the man backwards.

Natasha hurried to the other bed, slitting the throat of the other man while Clint struggled with the one who had woken. She watched as he forced the man down and shoved his knife into his chest.

The man choked and cursed at them, clutching at the wound in his side. Clint ripped the blade out, twisting as he did. The man's eyes widened as blood gushed out and he ceased struggling.

Natasha wiped off her knife on the sheets of the bed, cleaning it as best she could before stowing it back in its sheath.

Clint mimicked her actions and walked out of the room, "Time to go home."

Natasha nodded. Once outside, she felt the tremors she'd been ignoring take over. Nausea bubbled up, doubling her over as she vomited into the gutter. Clint pulled her hair back and rubbed his hand across her back until the gagging stopped. He helped steady her as she straightened.

"You okay?"

She nodded, shifting closer to him, "Yeah. Just withdrawal."

He chuckled darkly and wrapped his arm around her for support. Only she would say "just withdrawal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave me a comment!
> 
> I'm going to see Age of Ultron tomorrow night so I'm sure I'll have plenty of inspiration to write and I hope to have the next chapter out on Friday, it may not happen until Saturday morning though. We're nearing the end, I think I've got about 4 or 5 more chapters in this story.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter:"Are you sure you want to do this?" Clint asked once the door had locked behind them.
> 
> Natasha nodded, "We need to."
> 
> "It's Russia and this goddamn ring," he pointed out. "I'm worried that things are going to go wrong."
> 
> "They usually do."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the extreme delay in posting this. I'll put my excuses for the delay at the bottom of the chapter if you want to read them. I have finished writing this story and will be updating every day until the end (there are 40 chapters total).
> 
> Thank you to Accolade_Bespoke, hawkeyes_and_skywalkers, lisaj266, Mmackenzie, BlueMonday24, CW, Carla, Karolina94, BrandieFree, and PanicMoon15 for commenting last chapter. You guys are the best :)

 

_Army Boot Camp, Fort Jackson, South Carolina—2001_

Clint walked into the classroom, exhaustion etched onto his face. Everything hurt. His body protested as he sat down in one of the desks. His eyes prickled from the lack of sleep. His head pounded.

Boot camp sucked, he decided.

He spent most of his days being run ragged by exercises outside in the hot sun. After a ten minute shower break each afternoon, he then had to show up to class to learn Army protocols and operating procedures.

The other recruits trickled into the classroom, taking their seats and enjoying the moment to sit before their CO walked into the room.

Right as the clock changed to seventeen hundred the man walked into the room, followed by another officer. The recruits jumped to their feet and stood at attention. They'd learned quickly the proper response to a commanding officer entering.

"Sit," the man barked as he set a stack of papers on the desk at the front of the room.

They sat down in unison, remaining as still as possible while they waited for the man to begin.

"Today you'll be taking an exam over what we've covered so far," the man informed the group. "Sergeant Dawes will ensure that no one is tempted to cheat."

The sergeant moved to stand next to the classroom door at parade rest.

The CO passed out the papers before walking out of the room.

Clint bent over the test in front of him and went to work, breezing through the multiple choice questions easily. Why anyone would need to cheat was a mystery to him. He occasionally glanced up to watch the sergeant. It was nice to know the CO didn't trust them at all.

* * *

_SHIELD Base, New York—2009_

Nick Fury leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers in front of him. Four other people stood in the room. Maria Hill was behind him, face void of emotion. Phil Coulson stood across the desk, on the left, looking close to mutiny. And in front of him, both alert and attentive stood the Black Widow and Hawkeye.

He stayed silent, ignoring the stares of the agents in the room, debating the information presented to him. It had taken three weeks from their return from São Paolo for SHIELD to verify the information retrieved from the warehouse. How'd they'd missed such a large operation in Chechnya, Fury didn't know.

Right now, he was faced with a dilemma though: the assassins standing in front of him had requested they be sent to pursue the organization, determined to take it down, claiming they were the best choice. Their handler had requested they not be sent anywhere, let alone on such a high-risk mission until whoever kept trying to kill them was discovered. Fury agreed with both of them: they were the best choice, but it was too high of a risk.

Surveying the pair in front of him, he sighed. They were determined to go whether he authorized it or not. "Fine, you two can go."

Phil opened his mouth to start arguing.

Fury held up a hand to stall the man's tirade. "I know this is a huge risk, that's why we'll be taking every precaution to ensure it goes smoothly. You will both follow every order you receive, the moment you don't, I pull you off the mission."

"Sir," Phil said, voice tight with anger. "I still don't think they should go. Until we know who is after them, it's best if both Romanoff and Barton stay on base."

"Phil," Clint interrupted. "People are always going to try to kill us, it doesn't make sense to bench us because someone might try to come after us again while on a mission."

"That's actually why I've asked Hill to come in today," Fury said. "She's been monitoring SHIELD transmissions and chatter concerning your last missions. In doing so, she's uncovered a network of spies feeding information to various Council members. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about it at the moment other than start working to place those agents on less important assignments. As it is, the Council can request information from any SHIELD agent at any time, so they aren't technically doing anything illegal."

"Then they're still in danger," Phil said.

"We're limiting access to all information pertaining to this mission as much as possible. For the moment, only the four of us, Sanders, and Parilla are aware that the two of you are being sent. Anyone else informed will have proven their loyalty," Hill explained.

"Why are you helping us?" Natasha asked. She knew Hill wasn't their biggest fan.

The other woman smirked. "While I may take issue with some of your methods, Agent Romanoff, I am firmly against compromising the success of a mission or endangering other agents. We will get this taken care of."

Phil shook his head but stayed silent.

"You'll have a week to prepare, this will give us time to construct new aliases for you and ensure your safe passage to Chechnya," Fury said. "Dismissed."

Clint and Natasha turned and left the room, maintaining their professionalism until they were back in their quarters.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Clint asked once the door had locked behind them.

Natasha nodded, "We need to."

"It's Russia and this goddamn ring," he pointed out. "I'm worried that things are going to go wrong."

"They usually do."

Clint didn't say anything, just looked at her.

Natasha sighed, "Fine, I'm worried too, but I think we need to do this. No one else stands a chance. I know, it's Russia and that always complicates things since I defected, but we can do this. I truly believe that."

"Okay," he said. "Then let's bring these bastards down."

* * *

_Grozny, Chechnya, Russia—2009_

Natasha was tense the entire trip to Chechnya. SHIELD had provided her with a wig and prosthetics to match her new identity, still she worried that they were going to be arrested at the border. She clutched Clint's hand tightly as they passed through customs, hoping the guards would believe their cover as newlyweds coming to meet their respective parents for the first time. It would explain any nervousness that showed. Coulson had travelled in on a separate flight, landing an hour earlier. They didn't know if he'd gotten through and wouldn't until they arrived at the safe house.

Clint rented a nondescript white car for the pair. He blended in with the rest of traffic easily as they left the airport, taking care to not draw any attention. They didn't think they'd been followed, but the drug organization could easily have eyes on the airport, they certainly knew that SHIELD was after them by now.

Twisting his way through the winding streets, Clint followed the directions he'd memorized to get to the safe house. He could feel the anxiety rolling off Natasha. He reached over and took her hand, twining their fingers together and giving her a reassuring smile. One of them needed to stay calm.

The pair separated once inside the house, searching each room for signs of any surveillance or any other people. Phil's bags sitting in one room were the only sign of life. He'd left a scribbled note on the counter: _Went for food, back by seven._

Natasha glanced at the clock on the wall, it wasn't quite six. She turned away from Clint, hoping he'd understand her emotions and let her walk away. In the bathroom, she pulled off the wig and went to work removing her prosthetics. The door creaked open behind her and she turned to face Clint, unable to stop her stress from leaking into her expression.

He moved to wrap his arms around her for a moment, letting go soon after, unsure if she wanted his comfort at the moment. She gave him a small, sad smile and moved to her bag, pulling out more comfortable clothing.

Clint mimicked her actions, pulling out his own sweats and shirt. He slipped into them and glanced over to see Natasha pull her tank top over her head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he finally asked.

She shook her head and pressed her lips together.

"Okay," he said. He led the way back into the main room of the house and took a seat at the table.

Natasha busied herself with checking out the kitchen before she came and sat down next to him, allowing him to hold her hand. The door flew open, sending both assassins to their feet with weapons drawn.

"I've got a name for us," Coulson announced as he breezed into the house, arms filled with bags from the grocery store.

Natasha released the breath she'd been holding and lowered her gun.

Phil gave her a strange look before nodding once, "Right, guess we should make sure to give warning before coming in."

"That would be best," Clint said when Natasha failed to respond.

Phil set the bags on the kitchen counter and went to work putting everything way.

"You said something about a name?" Natasha asked after a few minutes.

Phil nodded, moving to grab his computer and opening the SHIELD database. "Anton Drakov, he's a Russian chemist whom HYDRA has hired to develop the drug."

"So it is HYDRA?" Clint said, examining the profile pulled up on the screen.

Phil shrugged, "It's them and AIM and the Russian mob and whoever wants in. Since HYDRA seems to be in charge, I figure it's easier to just say it instead of using 'them' or something."

"Your source came through in a big way," Natasha commented. She straightened from examining the profile.

"Gave me as much information as we could have hoped for."

"Location?" Clint asked.

Phil shook his head, "Unfortunately not that. He did help rule out a couple of areas in the city."

"How are we going to find them then?" Clint said.

"You're going to get to know the city really well," Phil replied with an apologetic smile.

Clint looked at Natasha, shrugging in response to her unasked question of when to start. He could see her debating if it mattered if they started tonight or tomorrow morning. She hesitated before shaking her head. He spoke to Phil, "We'll start in the morning I guess."

Phil nodded and looked expectantly at Clint, "I found the ingredients for stir fry."

"Is that your way of asking me to make dinner?" Clint quipped, moving to the kitchen.

"Clint, will you make dinner?" Phil said with a smile.

The trio tried to keep the conversation light over dinner, telling funny stories from various missions. They headed to bed soon after, tired from the change in time zones and the stress of getting into the country.

When Clint exited the bathroom, he found Natasha already in bed, curled into a ball with her back to him. He slid under the covers and hesitantly placed his hand on her hip. He half-expected her to pull away. When she relaxed a bit instead, he moved closer and wrapped himself around her.

Natasha twined her fingers with his hand, letting herself take comfort in his presence.

"I love you," Clint murmured against the back of her head.

Natasha squeezed his fingers, ignoring the tears that prickled in the corners of her eyes.

"We're going to do this," he promised as her breathing evened out and she relaxed against him. "I promise we'll get them all."

Clint found it difficult to sleep, his mind unable to turn off as he planned for how they were going to find Drakov and how he could help Natasha. He knew being back in Russia was taking a toll in a way it hadn't last time. When she sat up with a strangled scream, he touched her shoulder softly, bringing her back to reality.

"I burned down a shed full of Chechen rebels once," Natasha said as her breathing returned to normal. "I can still remember it so clearly, do you know why?"

Clint didn't know what to say.

She huffed a half-laugh, tears leaking from her eyes, "Because of the smell. Alina, the girl who was with me, said it was the smell of burning flesh. And I realized that I'd smelled it before, the day the hospital burned down with my parents inside."

"Oh Natasha," Clint sighed, pulling her against him as her body shook.

She pulled away slightly and looked at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Help me forget?"

Clint hesitated before nodding at her, "What did you have in mind?"

She wound her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth down to meet hers.

Clint dragged her closer to him, pressing his entire body against hers before pulling her down to lay on top of him, assuming (correctly) that she needed the control.

* * *

Natasha's eyes darted around the streets of Grozny, she found herself wishing it was winter so she could wear a hat and cover herself with layers of clothes. Instead, she felt exposed, as though she was being watched. She'd convinced Clint and Phil that they ought to split up when searching the city because time was of the essence. She was beginning to question the wisdom of that decision.

She forced herself to relax, blending into the crowd and letting her training take over. The sooner they found Drakov, the sooner they could leave.

Russian words filtered into her ears, catching her attention for fleeting moments, little more than idle chitchat. Her thoughts shifted from English, to half Russian, to completely in Russian. She tried to fight the shift at first, before giving in and focusing on the mission. She could succeed in Russian or English.

While the neighborhood she was walking through was certainly not the best, it had a strong sense of community. Natasha felt as though she stood out in the area. People meandered down the street, doorways to buildings were left open, neighbors called to each other, and children played on the sidewalks together. Natasha doubted Drakov would be in the area, there was too great a chance for someone to notice his oddities and maybe start asking questions.

She turned into a side alley, headed towards the final part of her search area for the day. Her sense of unease increased now that she no longer had the protection of the crowd around her.

Natasha picked up her pace. She shivered in the shaded space, keeping her eyes focused on the upcoming corner. It was only two hundred feet after that turn until she was back on a main street.

A small noise had her whirling around to find the source.

The alley was empty behind her. Squinting in the shadows, Natasha couldn't shake the sense she was being watched.

She kept looking behind her for a few extra seconds as she took two steps forward, freezing when her senses alerted her to a presence. She turned her head slowly to face the figure.

A man stepped forward, his long hair hanging in greasy strands around his face. His metal arm glimmered in the gloom.

"Привет Наталья," he said. _(Hello Natalia.)_

Natasha sucked in a harsh breath as his words washed over her. She withdrew one of her knives, holding it loosely in her hand, unsure if she could prevail against the man in front of her.

"Это было время, так как я видел тебя, Наталья," he said. _(It's been a while since I saw you, Natalia.)_

"I go by Natasha now," she replied in English, clinging to her identity as Natasha Romanoff, Agent of SHIELD.

The man chuckled, switching to English, "Yes, but you'll always be my little Natalia."

"What do you want James?" Natasha demanded.

He stepped closer.

Natasha tightened her grip on the knife.

"You and I both know that a little knife isn't going to be nearly enough to beat me," he hissed.

"What do you want?" she repeated.

James shrugged. He relaxed back onto his heels and surveyed the woman in front of him. "We heard you were in the city, so they decided to send a message."

Natasha pressed her lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of asking.

"Enjoy your time with the American," he smirked. "It will not last much longer."

Natasha swallowed hard.

"Вы вернетесь к нам и вы будете наказаны за непослушание," he continued, tone darkening as the Russian rolled off his tongue. _(You will come back to us and you will be punished for your disobedience.)_

"I will die before I return," she said vehemently.

James chuckled. "We'll be watching."

Natasha watched as he melted back into the shadows and disappeared from the alley. Once she was certain of her solitude, her control started to slip. Her breathing increased and tears pricked at her eyes. She bent over, hands resting on her knees. Get it under control. Get it under control, she chanted silently, forcing down the emotion choking her throat.

* * *

Clint surveyed the neighborhood he'd been assigned from a rooftop. It was the fifth location he'd watched from, his frown only deepening as the day went on. Finding Drakov seemed like an impossible task, especially since they had been reduced to actually walking the streets and hoping to get lucky. The longer he stayed in the area, the more convinced he was that Drakov wasn't there. It was too wealthy, buildings kept in decent condition, no sign of violence, and far too close to the futuristic architecture of the downtown areas. From his perch, Clint had a perfect view of the skyline and large mosque. He had to admit the city was gorgeous.

With a sigh, he turned away from the view and to the fire escape. He'd check the streets once more before heading to his final vantage point. Then it was time to head back to the safe house and perhaps reassess their search method. He hadn't heard from either Phil or Natasha. He chose to take the silence as good news, after all, if they'd completely struck out in trying to find him they'd have told him already. It worked the other way too though, if they'd found Drakov he'd know.

The people bustling about the streets seemed to be headed home for the evening. Many carried packages of food from them, a steady stream entering and exiting the butcher shop at the end of the street.

Clint kept his eyes moving, scanning the faces of the people around him and examining the shops. He hoped to find anything that would point to Drakov's location.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to look at the message. Phil had finally responded to his text from an hour before complaining of the boredom.

"Play eye spy," it read.

Clint rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back. He'd hoped to at least start a conversation with the man to keep the day interesting.

The last place turned out to be just as much a waste of time as all of the places before. Clint turned away and pulled out his phone, sending a message to Phil and Natasha informing them that he'd finished his area and was headed back to the safe house. It was earlier than he'd expected to finish so he assumed he'd be the first back.

Phil responded almost immediately, telling him he had two more areas to look at.

As Clint neared the safe house, he felt himself starting to worry. Natasha hadn't texted him back or even acknowledged the message. He knew she could take care of herself, but based on the way she'd been acting since they got to the city, he wasn't so sure about her mental state. The last thing he wanted was for her to lose herself or worse get taken back by the Red Room.

He picked up his pace, mentally cursing at himself. He should have never agreed to splitting up.

Natasha fought the tremble threatening to overtake her limbs as she hurried through the streets. All she wanted was to get away from the Winter Soldier and back to Clint. It was only after she had locked the safe house door behind her that she realized she hadn't checked for a tail.

The trembling won.

Natasha slid down the wall beside the door, eyes focused on far away memories.

She was in a sparsely furnished room, surrounded by grey walls. The door slammed open, light from the hall silhouetting the man who stood there. She cringed backwards, trying to squeeze through the wall.

"Please," she mumbled, hoping to stop the punishment she knew was coming.

"Don't!" the man snapped. He moved into the room and closed the door. The light glinted off his metal arm for a moment before the shadows returned. He flexed the metal fingers. "I have my orders. Nothing you say can stop this."

Natasha felt a tear slide down her cheek.

"Come here," the Winter Soldier ordered. His eyes met Natasha's and seemed to beg for forgiveness.

She moved closer mechanically.

"This is your fault," he whispered. His metallic hand grabbed the front of her shirt, ripping it away from her body.

Natasha looked past the man in front of her. It was her fault. If she hadn't failed, neither of them would be there.

Clint fumbled with the keys in his haste to open the door to the safe house. He couldn't pinpoint the exact reason for his hurry, he only had a gut feeling that he needed to find Natasha as soon as possible. She'd contacted him and Phil an hour or so earlier about checking out one more location before heading back. There was no reason to assume she hadn't made it back, yet Clint felt like something was wrong.

Pushing the door open only heightened his worry—the house was dark. It wasn't like Nat to sit in the dark, so maybe she hadn't made it back yet. Clint tried to convince himself it was possible he'd gotten back first.

"Nat?" he called hopefully. "You here?"

Silence responded.

Clint walked into the house and flipped on the lights, a frown settling across his face. He decided to check the bedroom before he called over the radio, maybe she'd gone to take a nap. The room was as dark as the rest of the house. He stepped in and shook his head at the empty bed, dropping his stuff onto it as he turned on his radio to call Phil and Natasha. A sharp breath from the corner had him freezing and flipping the light switch.

Natasha sat huddled in the corner.

"Hey, Tasha," he said, moving slowly to crouch down beside her.

She didn't respond.

"Are you okay?" Clint surveyed her for any injuries, trying to answer his own question.

He set his hand on her shoulder when she didn't even look at him.

Natasha's head snapped around to focus her piercing green eyes on him.

Clint watched as recognition flitted across her face.

"I'm fine," she said, standing up and heading to the bathroom.

"Bullshit."

Natasha froze.

"I come back to find you catatonic in a dark house and you think I'm going to believe for even a second that you're fine?" Clint demanded. "What happened?"

She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I'm fine. I just ran into someone from my past. It shook me up but I'm okay now."

"From your past? You mean the Red Room?"

Natasha bit her lip and nodded once.

Clint shook his head, "Okay, we're getting out of here. I'll call SHIELD."

"No!" Natasha blurted.

"What do you mean 'no'? You've been made, it isn't safe to stay, someone else can finish the mission"

She shook her head as he spoke. "He delivered a message, they don't care if we bring down the ring. This was just a reminder that someday, they will come after me. We knew the risks when we asked to be on this mission, this is just one of them."

"But—"

"No," she snapped. "This isn't your choice. It's mine. They won't act anytime soon and we have to do this. We owe it to Ives and Faulk and ourselves."

"I know," Clint eventually said. "I'm just afraid I'm going to lose you."

Natasha reached out to grab his hand.

"I can't lose you, Tasha."

"I'm not going anywhere," Natasha said, throat tight, knowing that neither of them could really keep that promise.

"Who was it?" Clint asked after a moment. "We should have SHIELD see if they can find him and keep us aware of his movements."

Natasha paused, "I doubt that SHIELD would be able to help. It was the Winter Soldier."

Clint took a sharp breath, surprised.

"Hawkeye, Widow," Phil's voice crackled through their earpieces. "I've got them."

Clint watched Natasha carefully as she nodded.

"Where?" she asked.

"In the Oktyabrsky district," Phil replied. "Did the two of you want to meet me over here to start surveillance?"

"Widow ran into the Winter Soldier," Clint said before Natasha could agree. "We're at the safe house. We ought to reexamine our strategy before we do anything."

"Is she okay?" Phil asked.

Natasha shot her partner a dirty look before speaking. "I'm fine."

"I'm on my way back, we'll talk when I get there," Phil replied.

Phil's return to the safe house had been followed by an hour of arguing over whether or not they should stay and finish the mission. Natasha was the only one adamant about staying. Clint kept pushing for them to leave while Phil was eventually persuaded to Natasha's side. There were stipulations for his agreement though. SHIELD had to be notified about the presence of the Winter Soldier and if anything else happened they were out.

Natasha had agreed reluctantly.

They'd spent another two hours planning how to run surveillance on the building Phil had discovered before turning in for the night.

The next day the trio went to work. Phil started looking into the city's archives in hope of finding blueprints for the building. From what they could see of the building, it looked to be a mix of pre and post-war architecture, which meant they had no idea what the interior would be like.

* * *

_Oktyabrsky District, Grozny, Russia—2009_

Natasha started the surveillance, picking a café a block away to order a cup of tea. She remained there for a couple of hours, sipping on her tea and reading. A steady stream of people moved up and down the street in front of her with the occasional person entering the building. The longer she watched the more convinced she was that the ring was only using part of the building. A family left and came back, arms filled with bags from the market. A young man brought a dog out to use the bathroom before disappearing inside again.

And every so often, middle aged men would enter or leave alone, throwing furtive looks over their shoulders. There was no sign of Drakov going in or out of the building.

When Clint texted her midafternoon, she paid her bill and left the café. He would take over for a few hours and see if he could catch sight of Drakov from his vantage point.

Natasha settled back in to the safe house to write her report. Anxiety pooled in her chest as she recalled her observations. She couldn't figure out what was making her nervous but something was off. Too much was left to chance by using a building that had citizens living in it. Why would the ring risk it?

And when working with such volatile chemicals, wouldn't they want to keep things far away from the general population? Less chance of being caught.

* * *

Clint lay on his stomach, peering through the scope he'd propped on the edge of the roof. From his vantage point, he could see into the fourth floor apartment the ring had converted into a manufacturing room. They were confident, leaving the window completely uncovered. He watched as two men moved around the room, passing by the window at various points.

One wore a suit and seemed to be following the man in the lab coat. The lab coat belonged to Anton Drakov. The man's attention made Drakov nervous: he was sweating, stuttering, and constantly looking around. At the door, stood a third man, holding an assault rifle and looking bored.

From what Clint could see, the man in the suit wanted to know Drakov's progress on producing the drug. His lip reading skills couldn't keep up with the rapid Russian conversation but he caught a few words including "São Paolo." A smirk spread across his face at those words, proud that the events in Brazil had caused the ring problems.

After an hour of observation, the man in the suit left. The guard remained. Drakov's shoulders hunched as he bent over a table and began to measure out different liquids.

Something bothered Clint about the scene. He couldn't put his finger on what was off, he just felt that something was.

A couple of hours later and nothing had changed other that what Drakov was measuring. He'd switched to some sort of powder, adding it to the carefully prepared dishes of liquid.

"Sit rep," Phil demanded over the comms.

Clint turned his scope to the guard for a moment. "Drakov had a visitor a couple of hours ago. Nice guy in a suit who certainly made Drakov nervous. He's been hard at work ever since. They've got a guard with him armed with an assault rifle."

"Just one?" Natasha said. "Shouldn't be too much of a problem."

The guard moved from his position and said something to the scientist. Drakov looked up, eyes slightly glazed. He nodded and covered the dishes before taking his coat off. He followed the guard out of the room.

"They've left the room," Clint reported. "I think they're leaving the building for the night. Do you want me to follow or investigate the apartment?"

"Follow Drakov," Phil instructed. "See if you can find where he's living. With any luck, they'll leave him unguarded at night and we can go after him there."

"Copy, I'll call when they stop."

Clint moved to a crouch, stowing his equipment away. He watched as they exited the building and began walking down the street.

It didn't take long for Drakov to get home. Clint tailed the men for twenty minutes before they stopped. The guard had left his rifle somewhere in the apartment, Clint realized. The men stopped outside of a nicer apartment building and spoke for a moment before parting.

Drakov walked inside while the guard nodded to a man loitering next to the front door.

Clint frowned, so they traded off guard duty at the building. He'd have to figure out where exactly Drakov was living inside.

He called up Phil and Natasha to tell them the address before deciding to head back to the safe house. They could start strategizing over dinner. Drakov wasn't going anywhere on them overnight.

The manti Natasha had found was delicious, maybe even making it into the top ten for Clint's favorite foods. Clint ate several, barely taking the time to breath as he enjoyed the food. He picked up another and froze with it halfway to his mouth.

Phil and Natasha both turned to look at him, raising their eyebrows in almost identical expressions of surprise.

"Why was the guard inside the room?" Clint muttered.

"What?" Phil said.

Clint set the manti down and looked at the two agents sitting with him. "The guard. Why was he inside the room?"

The other two remained silent, thrown by the sudden question and lack of context.

"It's weird, right?" Clint continued. "Why would you post a guard inside the room? Wouldn't it make more sense to put one outside? You'd be able to better monitor access to the room."

"You're talking about the guard with Drakov?" Natasha asked.

Clint nodded. "Something was bothering me about the set up and now I realized what it was. You don't put a guard inside the room if you're trying to keep people out…"

"You do it to keep someone in," Natasha finished when he trailed off. "You'd do it to watch whatever was in the room."

"Or whoever," Clint added.

The trio sat in silence for a minute before Clint spoke again. "I don't think Drakov is a willing participant in this."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment! Next chapter should be up tomorrow.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Coulson," Natasha tried, wondering if there was something wrong with the link.
> 
> Still no answer.
> 
> "Coulson, can you hear us?"
> 
>  
> 
> For those of you who care about my long absence from this story, here it is: As you may remember, the last time I updated was right before Age of Ultron came out. It killed me. I hated Natasha's plot so much and found myself with some severe writer's block. On top of that, I was headed into the last couple weeks of college. I hadn't expected finals and everything to be so terrible, but between the stress from school and my lack of motivation, I stopped writing. A week after I graduated, I moved to Florida to start working at Disney World where I didn't start writing again. Long story short, Disney sucked out my soul and didn't give it back. I left spring of this year and moved home to work and save some money for grad school.
> 
> Seeing Captain America: Civil War got me excited again but I still had writer's block like nobody's business. Also, in the last year and a half, I have started to become a BuckyNat shipper (don't worry, this story is still pure Clintasha). I did manage to write a good portion of the end of this story over the summer (in very little bits and pieces). Most recently, I moved to Scotland for school and have finally started writing again. I don't have a good reason for not updating and I feel really bad.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Accolade_Bespoke and Eistir for commenting on last chapter.

 

_Red Room, Unknown Location—1994_

Natalia was at the front of the line of girls following their trainer through the facility. They had left the areas they usually worked in and headed down two levels. Natalia felt like it had gotten colder as they descended deeper into the concrete halls. She wasn't comfortable with them changing the training schedule. She'd gotten used to the daily routine, it didn't bode well that the girls were being led somewhere new.

The trainer opened a door and gestured for the girls to go inside.

Natalia pushed her trepidation down and walked into the room. Cold, bright lights lit the room, reflecting off the row of steel tables down the middle. One wall was covered in what looked like lockers. A man wearing surgical scrubs stood next to the only occupied table. Someone was laying on it. As Natalia drew nearer she realized that the person was too still.

It was the first time she'd actually seen a dead body. She stepped up next to the table, unable to pull her gaze away from the corpse in front of her.

"Welcome," the man wearing scrubs said after all of the girls were in the room. "Welcome to our autopsy facility."

The girls remained silent, a few shifted nervously.

"Today you will observe as I perform an autopsy on this gentleman. He was poisoned," the man continued. "Let's begin."

Natalia remained in her place near the middle of the table as the other girls fanned out to get a better view. She fought down the rising bile as the doctor dragged a scalpel across the man's chest. She'd expected blood to come out, somehow it was worse that it didn't.

"Do not fear Death," he said. "You are here to serve the government, but ultimately, you will be serving Death."

Natalia shivered at his words.

* * *

_Grozny, Chechnya—2009_

"Cute," Clint said in response to the computer Natasha had shoved in front of him. On it was a picture of a little girl, blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Her name is Anna. She's six," Natasha informed him.

"Were you planning on adopting her or something?"

She shook her head, "No. She's Drakov's daughter."

Clint's eyes widened. "Drakov has a daughter?"

Natasha nodded, "Her mother died four years ago. Drakov never remarried and has been raising her on his own."

"You think she's involved in this. Why?" Clint asked.

"If I was in charge of getting Drakov to cooperate while I was still with the Red Room, that's how I would have done it. Grab Anna on her way home from school one day and let him know I had her. So long as he cooperates, nothing happens to her. The moment he stops cooperating, that's when little Anna starts losing body parts."

"Why are you cutting off body parts?" Phil wondered as he walked into the room.

Clint grinned at his handler, "So she can keep Drakov controlled. Natasha found his daughter."

"Drakov has a daughter?"

"That's what I said."

Natasha rolled her eyes at the two men in front of her. "The point is, I think they're holding her hostage somewhere in order to make Drakov work for them."

Phil studied the picture of the girl. It was taken while she was playing at a park. "She's what, five?"

"Six."

"Seems plausible."

"Here's what I want to know," Natasha said. "Why didn't SHIELD find out anything about her?"

"I think it's time we call Fury," Phil replied.

Fury answered on the first ring. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong sir," Phil said mildly. "Should something be?"

"I just assume that something is wrong when you call me directly."

Phil chuckled. "Not this time. We did find something though. Did you know that Anton Drakov has a daughter?"

Silence passed across the line. "I'm getting Hill. Are Barton and Romanoff with you?"

"They are."

"Good. I'll call back when Hill gets here."

Phil put the phone down and turned to Clint and Natasha. "Apparently, he didn't know. He and Hill are going to call us back."

"It's a pretty big thing to miss." Clint said. "I can understand missing the part about her being a hostage, but to not tell us anything about her existence is bad. She could ruin any attempt to take out Drakov."

"All I did was run a few Google searches on Drakov. An obituary for his wife mentions the daughter. I found the picture through Interpol."

The phone rang, ending the conversation.

"You're on speaker," Phil announced, setting the phone on the table.

"How did you learn that Drakov has a daughter?" Hill asked.

"Google," Natasha supplied. "Then Interpol."

"We don't think Drakov is a willing participant in manufacturing the drug," Clint said.

"He'd make a valuable asset if you're right," Fury said. "You think they've got his daughter?"

"She's six and hasn't been to school in several months," Natasha explained. "If we get her and bring Drakov in, we'll stop production of the drug."

Hill sighed loudly. "Do you know where she is?"

"I think I know how to find her," Clint said. "A guy in a suit visits Drakov every few days. We think he's one of the leaders. I could tail him the next time he visits. I'm guessing that he knows where she is, if he's not the one holding her."

"It wouldn't be too difficult to rescue the girl in order to get rid of their leverage over Drakov," Natasha added.

"The objective is to take down the ring," Fury said. "Do you believe that this would help?"

Natasha and Clint looked at each other for a moment.

"Yes," Clint said.

"Without Drakov, they'll be stalled in production of the drug. That will give us a little bit more time to collect the information we need before we move on them. It also takes out the risk of the drug being used against us when we go," Natasha said.

Fury paused for a moment before speaking, "Okay, see if you can find the girl. Don't forget the objective though."

"Any reason why we didn't know about her before we got here?" Phil asked.

The agents on the other end of the line remained silent.

"We're looking into it," Hill finally said.

"So you don't know anything more than we do," Clint said.

"Obviously there was a time crunch to put together a dossier on Drakov," Hill defended.

Natasha snorted, "Not enough of a crunch to explain how Interpol had the information but we didn't. I'm guessing CIA, MI-6, Russia, China, Israel, and many others had the information too. So why didn't we?"

"We're looking into it," Fury repeated.

Phil shook his head when Natasha opened her mouth to respond. His tone was meant to ease the tension, "We understand that. But you'll understand why we're frustrated. This entire operation needs to be rethought now. It would be nice to be sure we won't discover something else similarly important."

"I intend to make sure that doesn't happen," Fury said. "Hill is going to investigate and take over providing the intelligence for this mission. We'll keep you updated."

"Thank you sir," Phil said. The call ended.

"He thinks we always just throw the objective out the window," Clint grumbled after Fury hung up.

Phil gave him a look. "That's the part of the conversation you're fixated on?"

"Yeah, there's nothing we can do about the intel right now. So what's the look for?"

"Well, we kind of do," Natasha said. "Or at least we decide to throw the protocols out the window."

"That's different," Clint argued. "We've got the highest success rate in SHIELD anyway, they should cut us some slack."

Phil cleared his throat, "Back to the matter at hand, who's going to run surveillance right now?"

"I will," Clint volunteered. "I need to get out of this house before I start to go crazy."

"I want to get inside Drakov's apartment," Natasha announced. "See if he has any information on his daughter. Or maybe she's there and we're wrong about all of this. Either way, his apartment is the place to start."

"Go. I'm going to see if I can find anything more from Interpol or any other sources. Clearly SHIELD isn't going to be giving us more intel at this point," Phil said.

Clint and Natasha grabbed their gear and headed out of the safe house.

* * *

Natasha hovered at the mouth of an alley next to Drakov's apartment. She could see the guard sitting outside and was waiting for Clint to confirm Drakov's position before she tried to enter. She didn't want to risk walking in while Drakov was still home, it would blow the entire operation.

"I've got eyes on Drakov," Clint said over the comms.

Natasha nodded, "Copy. I'm headed in. Let me know if he leaves."

"Ten-four, good luck."

Natasha squared her shoulders and stepped out of the alley. She walked directly to the door of the apartment building and pulled it open. The guard looked her up and down. She ignored him, walking inside of the building without a backward glance. The first thing she'd learned about infiltrating somewhere was to act like she had every right to be there. People didn't doubt confidence.

Once inside, she dropped the arrogant expression and took in her surroundings. She stood in a relatively nice lobby area. The dim lights likely helped hide any dirt and the air was a bit stale, but otherwise, it was decent. Natasha walked up to the only other person inside. An older woman was checking her mail.

"Здравствуйте," Natasha said. _(Hello.)_

"Здравствуйте," the woman replied with a surprised look. _(Hello.)_

"Где я могу найти строительную супер? Я должен встретиться с ним в его квартире," Natasha asked. _(Where can I find the building super? I'm supposed to meet him at his apartment.)_

"Поднимитесь по лестнице на третий этаж, повернуть направо, это шестая слева. Количество 319," the woman said. _(Go up the stairs to the third floor, turn right, it's the sixth one on the left. Number 319.)_

"Спасибо," Natasha said before moving to the stairs. _(Thank you.)_

Natasha found the super's apartment easily enough. She knocked on the door, hoping the man wasn't home. It would be annoying if she actually had to con the guy into giving her Drakov's apartment number. There was no answer after the first knock. She tried again, louder this time. Listening hard, she heard nothing behind the door.

Looking to make sure the hall remained empty, Natasha pulled out a set of lock picks and went to work on the door. It didn't take long to pick the lock and get into the apartment. She shut the door behind her, pulling out one of her Glocks. A quick search through all of the rooms showed the owner was out.

Natasha had to give the guy credit, he kept his apartment tidy. It was quite the opposite of what she had expected. He might even be doing work around the building for all she knew. His office was neat and organized. Natasha crouched down behind the desk and began opening the drawers. A guy as orderly as this had to have a list of all the tenants and their apartment numbers somewhere. She didn't want to take the time to hack into the computer with his location completely unknown.

In the second drawer from the bottom, she found what she was looking for. A folder labeled "Tenant Listing." She pulled it out and skimmed the list of names.

"Anton Drakov, apartment 207" was listed a third of the way down the page.

Natasha shoved the folder back in the drawer and hurried out of the apartment.

"Number 207," she texted Clint and Phil so they'd have the number for future reference.

Breaking into Drakov's apartment took less time than the super's.

To say the interior was sparse would be an understatement. Other than some clothes and chemistry books, there weren't any personal items in view. Nothing to indicate the presence of another person in the apartment. Clearly, Drakov hadn't been living there for long. She did a sweep for signs of electronic surveillance and found none.

Then she went to work searching the place. In the kitchen, she opened every drawer and cabinet finding nothing but a few dishes. The fridge had two piles of leftovers and a bottle of wine. She moved to the living room, lifting up each couch cushion and peering under the couch. Nothing. In the bathroom, she found that the medicine cabinet was stocked with basic toiletries and several bottles of medication, mostly for pain or heart burn. The bedroom then became the focus of her search. She dug through the closet and dresser.

Drakov's clothing revealed only that he had a penchant for buying grey shirts. Natasha turned to the bed, noticing the covers half-heartedly thrown over it. If she had to guess, Drakov wasn't sleeping well. Under the pillow she found what she was looking for.

A picture of Drakov, his wife, and his infant daughter rested on top of the small pile. The edges were worn. Beneath it were two more pictures, both of Anna. In the first, she was posing in front of an old building. The second one was of her asleep on a couch. Natasha pulled out her phone and took pictures of the pictures to bring back to Phil and Clint.

She placed the pictures back almost reverently, understanding their importance to Drakov. After straightening the pillows, she turned and left the room. One last check of the apartment convinced her that there was nothing else there.

Natasha walked out, pulling the door closed behind her and making sure it locked. She hurried out of the building, ignoring the guard again and continuing down the street. Once around the corner she pulled out her phone and texted the images to Phil. He'd be able to get them onto the computer and into Drakov's file from there.

"Hawkeye," she said over the radio.

"Don't worry, Drakov's still here."

"I'm out. Found some pictures but that's all there was," she replied. "I'm on my way to meet you. What do you say we do a little breaking and entering at the lab?"

Clint's grin was easy to imagine, as was Phil's eye roll.

"Sounds good to me," Clint said.

Phil's sigh was audible. "Don't get caught."

"We're professionals, Phil," Clint told him.

"I'll be there in twenty," Natasha said before ending the conversation. She picked up her pace, wanting to get there as soon as possible.

* * *

Clint waited until the car turned the corner before following. He had to be sure they didn't suspect a tail. Fortunately, the streets were busy. Clint had little trouble staying a few cars behind. He followed the car across the city, driving past when it pulled up to the gate of a mansion.

He parked the stolen scooter a few blocks away and returned to the house. The driver closed the garage door on the car and followed the man in the suit up to the front door.

"They stopped at a mansion across the city," Clint radioed. "I'm texting you the address."

"I'll run it down," Phil replied.

Clint began to study the building in front of him. A high fence ran around the property. He could see through the black, metal posts onto the well-groomed lawn. A pair of guards stood on either side of the gate. Another pair was walking away, around the side of the house. A third pair appeared from the opposite side.

"The house belongs to Abram Germanovich Sedov," Phil said. "He's on the city council and is known for throwing his money to whatever cause and whichever politician will benefit him most. I'm sending you a picture."

Clint pulled out his phone and opened the message. He dialed Phil to continue the conversation.

"Something wrong with the comms?" Phil asked when he answered.

"Looks weird if I'm just talking to myself on the street," Clint explained. "The picture is definitely the guy in the suit."

"I'll add him to our list of known members. He might be the source of the money."

Clint froze as he watched the front door open. A little girl stepped outside, followed by a guard and a strict-looking woman.

"She's here," Clint said.

"Who?"

"Anna. She just walked outside. She's under guard, otherwise I'd try to grab her."

"Stay on the house," Phil ordered. "Follow if Anna leaves. See if there are any holes in the security. I'll have Natasha come meet you."

"Have her bring the rest of my gear. We need to act tonight if we're going to get Anna back."

"Okay. Let me know if anything changes."

Clint hung up and turned his attention back to the house. Anna was being led around the yard by her escort. She didn't look particularly happy.

Clint leaned back against the wall, preparing himself to wait for a while. They still had a couple of hours until dark.

* * *

Natasha arrived an hour before dark. She'd stocked up on weapons and ammunition for the both of them.

"Three teams of two circling the mansion, two more at the front gate and another at the back," Clint told Natasha when she stopped in front of him.

"Any blind spots?" Natasha asked.

Clint shook his head. "Not for more than a second or two when they're coming around the side of the building. They've got it almost perfectly timed."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

Natasha watched the mansion for a minute. "Do you know where Anna is once we're inside?"

"No, I haven't seen any sign of her since she took her walk around the house."

"Give me the scope."

Clint pulled it out and handed it to her.

Natasha raised the scope to her eye and peered through. She studied each window in the house for a few seconds before moving on to the next. She spent extra time examining the ones with lights in the them. An adult walked in front of one of them. She watched for another moment before moving on. Towards the right side of the house, a small shadow passed in front of one of the windows. Natasha focused on it, waiting to see if it would happen again. A minute later, the figure passed again. This time, a woman followed.

"I think I found her," Natasha said. She handed the scope to Clint. "Third window from the right, second floor."

Clint watched for a few minutes before nodding, "The silhouette looks like the woman I saw with her."

"So they've got the nanny staying with her. Makes sense."

The assassins were silent.

"How do we get in?" Natasha asked.

"We have to take out at least two teams of guards simultaneously and silently," Clint mused.

"Do we go for the front or the back?"

Clint thought for a moment. "Front. Less distance to the house. We really need to take out all of the guards though. They'll get suspicious if they don't see each other and leaving bodies will definitely tip them off."

"Okay," Natasha said. "You take out the pair that comes around the corner on patrol. While you do that, I can handle the two at the gate. We get in, and each take out another pair of guards. Whoever finishes first goes after the one on the back gate."

"We're assuming that they aren't in regular radio contact," Clint pointed out.

She looked at the house. "There's a little girl being held hostage in there. It's an assumption we'll have to make."

Clint nodded, "Let's do it."

"I'll let Phil know we're going to act. You get in position. We'll have to be quick."

Clint grabbed the bag full of his gear. He shrugged into his vest and pulled out his quiver, clipping it on. "You signal me when you're ready to move."

Natasha nodded, dialing Phil on her phone. She waited until Clint had picked a spot and stopped. He was half hidden by the shadows, she watched as he drew back is bow. She took a deep breath and turned on her earpiece. "I'm headed over to the gate."

"Ready when you are," Clint replied.

"Good luck," Phil said.

Natasha sauntered over to the gate, doing everything she could to draw the guards' attention. She knew that they would be suspicious since she was wearing her black catsuit and had guns visible. Hopefully, they'd be too stupid to recognize her as a threat though.

"Можем ли мы Вам помочь?" asked one of the men. _(Can we help you?)_

Natasha held her hands up slightly as a sign of peace. The guards both had hands on their weapons. "Ты уверен, что может. Я ищу кого-то." _(You sure can. I'm looking for someone.)_

"Кто?" the man asked, taking his hand off the gun. _(Who?)_

Natasha smirked, "Маленькая девочка, светлые волосы, голубые глаза, около шести лет." _(A little girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, about six years old.)_

The second guards' eyes widened in recognition.

The one who was talking to her kept his expression bland. "К сожалению, не видел ее." _(Sorry, haven't seen her.)_

"Вы уверены? Анна Её зовут. Анна Драков," Natasha said. _(You sure? Her name's Anna. Anna Drakov.)_

The guard shook his head, "Без понятия." _(No idea.)_

"Я не верю тебе," Natasha said. _(I don't believe you.)_

She wrapped her hand around the guard's throat, kicking out at the silent one behind him. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the two patrolling the yard collapsed, black shafts sticking out of their chests. Grabbing onto the guard's head with both hands she twisted sharply, dropping him as he went limp, neck oddly twisted.

The second guard was gasping for air from the kick, trying to draw his revolver. Natasha pulled out her knife and plunged it into his throat, ripping it out with a twist. A moment later, Clint was by her side, helping her open the gate.

"He really should have some type of electronic security system on this thing," Clint muttered.

Natasha shrugged, "Maybe the guy doesn't trust computers."

"I'll take the right," Clint offered as they sprinted across the lawn.

"See you on the other side."

Clint broke to the right and rounded the edge of the house. He drew an arrow and sent it flying into the back of the first guard he saw. The partner was half a step ahead. A second arrow downed him before he could react to his partner's demise. He took off for the rear gate, knowing that the last guard was the one who would probably alert the house to the attack.

Natasha froze and put her hands up when she came into view of the two guards. She could see Clint headed for the last one as the pair approached her, weapons drawn. They were wary of her presence.

"Встать на колени!" one of them yelled. _(Get on your knees.)_

Natasha moved to kneel as ordered. She watched them as they stepped closer. A few more feet and she'd be able to move.

The first guard moved ahead. Natasha twisted, kicking out at his knees, causing them to buckle. His partner shouted in surprise. Her knife stuck in the center of his torso a second later. He looked down in surprise, dropping his weapon.

Natasha drew her gun and shoved it into the stomach of the man on the ground. She squeezed the trigger, the man's body muffling the sound. Reaching out, she pulled her knife out of the other guy. He made a gurgling noise at her, blood oozing out between his lips. She drew the blade across his neck, stepping away to avoid the arterial spray.

Clint approached again surveying her handiwork. He had collected his arrows and replaced them in his quiver.

"You know," he said conversationally. "Before I met you, I did most of my killing from a distance. A lot less messy."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I saw your apartment before me, this is less messy than that."

Clint snorted and followed her around to the front of the house. They picked the lock easily. A quick sweep around the entryway revealed no security system. "Sedov's an idiot. No electronic security and only nine guys to guard the house?"

Natasha nodded and crept over to the stairs. She gestured for Clint to go first. The pair moved through the building and down the hall to the room they'd marked as Anna's.

"Go first," Clint whispered. "She probably won't react well to an armed man walking in and trying to take her."

"You may have a point."

Natasha opened the door and stepped inside. She slipped over to the bed and knelt down. The little girl was sleeping peacefully. The door closed with a quiet snick, indicating that Clint was inside.

"Anna," Natasha said softly, reaching out to nudge the girl. "Anna."

The girl shifted in her sleep, eyes cracking open slightly.

"Анна, вам нужно проснуться." _(Anna, you need to wake up now.)_

Anna's eyes opened. She curled back in fear at the sight of the unknown woman kneeling next to her.

"Не бойтесь. Меня зовут Наташа," Natasha said, holding out a hand to help the girl sit up. _(Don't be afraid. My name is Natasha.)_

Clint shifted position next to the door, drawing Anna's frightened gaze.

"Это мой партнер, Клинт. Мы здесь, чтобы спасти вас." _(That's my partner Clint. We're here to rescue you.)_

"Они имеют папу," the girl whispered. _(They have my daddy.)_

"Мы знаем. Мы собираемся пойти помочь ему в следующем," Clint said. _(We know. We're going to go help him next.)_

Anna cocked her head to the side. She looked at Natasha, "Он говорит смешно." _(He talks funny.)_

Natasha smiled, "Он американец. Будете ли вы с нами? Мы должны спешить." _(He's American. Will you come with us? We have to hurry.)_

Anna hesitated, biting her lip. "Вы обещаю вам поможет папу?" _(You promise you'll help my daddy?)_

Both assassins nodded.

"Хорошо," Anna said. She climbed out of bed and began to get dressed. _(Okay.)_

Clint turned to Natasha. "We can't take her out the gates."

"Why not?"

Clint raised an eyebrow and Natasha frowned before nodding. "Right, the bodies."

She looked at Anna for a moment. "We'll carry her. Tell her to keep her eyes closed until we're clear of the mansion."

Clint nodded.

"Анна, я собираюсь нести тебя отсюда. Я хочу, чтобы ты закрытыми глазами, пока мы не сказать, что вы можете посмотреть," he said. _(Anna, I'm going to carry you out of here. I want you to keep your yes closed until we tell you you can look.)_

Anna hesitated before nodding. "Ты убил охранников, не так ли?" _(You killed the guards, didn't you?)_

Clint looked to Natasha.

Natasha knelt in front of the little girl. "Да. Вам не нужно, чтобы увидеть их." _(Yes. You don't need to see them.)_

"Хорошо," Anna said. "Я не буду смотреть." _(Okay, I won't look.)_

"Есть что-нибудь вы хотите принять отсюда?" Natasha asked. _(Is there anything you want to take from here?)_

Anna nodded and pulled a stuffed bear off the bed. She walked up over to Clint who scooped her up. Anna buried her face into his neck and the teddy bear. Clint nodded to his partner and they exited the room.

Natasha led the way through the house, Glocks out and ready to fire in case they ran into any trouble. They slipped past the gate and down the street. They stopped a few blocks from the house and Clint set Anna down telling her she could open her eyes now.

"Мы должны позвонить в наш босс в настоящее время," Natasha told the girl. _(We have to call our boss now.)_

Anna nodded.

"Phil," Clint said over the comms. "We've got Anna."

Silence met his words.

"Coulson," Natasha tried, wondering if there was something wrong with the link.

Still no answer.

"Coulson, can you hear us?"

Nothing.

"Phil, we got the girl. Want us to bring her back to the safe house."

Natasha shook her head at Clint. "Try your phone?"

Clint pulled out his phone and froze. He handed it over to Natasha, the text message from Phil displayed on the screen.

"Safe house compromised. Will contact you."

"What does that mean?" Clint snarled. "Is he okay? Compromised by what? Did they find us before we got them? Or is it something else?"

Natasha stepped forward and grabbed Clint's arm. "Hey, I don't know any more than you do. Right now we need to get Anna somewhere safe. We'll contact SHIELD once we've done that."

Clint took a deep breath and nodded, "Any suggestions for where to go?"

"Let's find a hotel away from here," Natasha said. "We can sleep some after we find out what's going on and be ready to act tomorrow."

* * *

Phil sat down in front of his equipment to monitor Clint and Natasha's movement at the mansion. He didn't have any way to watch them, but he would be able to hear their chatter. His phone was next to him, ready to call the police or SHIELD depending on what the situation necessitated. With any luck, he wouldn't have to do anything.

While they began their assault, Phil continued to work on finding more information about Drakov and Sedov. He wanted to be prepared for whatever Sedov would throw at them when he realized that his leverage over Drakov was gone. Clint and Natasha's banter was comforting after they'd breached the security. He listened as they spoke to Anna and felt himself relaxing as he realized that all they had to do was get out now.

A knock on the door had him standing up and grabbing his gun. No one should be approaching the safe house. Phil pulled up the video feed for the camera above the door. What looked like a SWAT team was standing outside the door. He watched the leader raise his hand and knock again. Phil texted Clint while he gathered the most sensitive information and dropped it in the incinerator shoot SHIELD had installed. It took a few seconds to type in the passcode that would shut down all of the computer software and make the files inaccessible to anyone but SHIELD. Assuming these guys were legitimate, it would mean hours of annoying questions and phone calls until he was released, but he would be released.

Phil refused to think about what would happen if they weren't legitimate government agents.

The door shuddered in its frame as they took a battering ram to it. Phil knew it wouldn't hold after the next hit. He pulled out his SHIELD badge and holstered his gun.

"Полиция!" the leader shouted as they barged into the house. _(Police!)_

Phil held up his hands, badge visible.

"Вы прерывания официальный операцию SHIELD," he told them. _(You are interrupting an official SHIELD operation.)_

The Russians didn't seem to care.

"Вы находитесь под арестом за незаконное разведывательной деятельности," the leader said. _(You are under arrest for illegal intelligence activity.)_

A second agent barked orders to the team: "Поиск дом." _(Search the house.)_

Phil submitted to the rough search he was given. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he was lead out of the house with the lead agent.

His mind raced as they climbed into the car. Clint and Natasha would be fine; they were almost out of the house when he'd gotten picked up. But it would be a long time until he was able to contact them and reassure them. Until then, Clint and Natasha were on their own. Phil hoped they wouldn't do anything stupid.

* * *

Clint led the way through the city to the hotel they planned to stay at. He left his gear with Natasha and took Anna in with him, she'd been silent most of the way across the city. Before they walked into the hotel, Natasha bent down and whispered to Anna: "You have to pretend like Clint is your dad while you're in there. They might not give us a room if they don't believe it."

Anna nodded solemnly and took Clint's hand, walking into the hotel without hesitation.

Once Clint secured a room—he'd insisted on one next to the fire escape—he texted Natasha the number and opened the window for her. She climbed up the fire escape with the gear and slipped into the room.

Anna looked at the two assassins from her spot on the bed.

"Мы должны назвать нашу организацию в настоящее время и выяснить, что происходит с нашей обработчика," Natasha explained. _(We have to call our organization now and find out what's going on with our handler.)_

"Вы не собираетесь, чтобы помочь моему отцу?," Anna asked. _(Aren't you going to help my dad?)_

Natasha nodded, "Мы, но мы не можем ничего сделать, пока завтра в ближайшее время. Вы, вероятно, следует вернуться, чтобы спать." _(We are, but we can't do anything until tomorrow at the earliest. You should probably go back to sleep.)_

Anna shook her head. "Я не устал." _(I'm not tired.)_

Clint looked at the girl for a moment before speaking, "Хотите, чтобы посмотреть телевизор, а мы говорим нашей организации?" _(Would you like to watch some TV while we talk to our organization?)_

"Есть ли у них какие-либо фильмы?" she said. _(Do they have any movies?)_

Clint flipped on the TV and began searching through the channels for movies. He and Anna settled on watching _Peter Pan_.

Natasha held up the phone as explanation and moved into the bathroom to call Fury.

"It's almost midnight there," Fury answered. "What happened?"

"We got the girl," Natasha started. "But when we tried to contact Phil after the operation, he didn't answer. Clint had a text from him saying the safe house was compromised and he'd contact us later."

"Fuck," Fury swore. "You guys get somewhere safe?"

"We're at a hotel."

"Hill's here, give me a second."

Natasha could only hear muffled discussion on the other side of the phone.

Fury spoke again, "Hill just got a call from our Moscow base. Phil called them. He got picked up by the police for illegal intelligence activity. It's going to be a while before they get everything sorted out and get him out of custody."

"We're kind of working on a time limit now that we have the girl," Natasha said.

Fury sighed, "I trust you and Barton to continue the operation as you see fit. Phil will be in contact as soon as he's out. For now, keep Hill or I in the loop."

"Yes sir," Natasha said, hanging up. She took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom.

Clint was lounging on the bed next to Anna, engrossed in _Peter Pan_. He looked up when Natasha walked out.

"Police arrested Phil, he's fine but won't be released for a while. Fury wants us to contact him or Hill before we do anything."

Clint nodded, "So I guess we're staying here for the night."

"I'm going to get cleaned up," Natasha said. She pulled out the shorts and t-shirt she kept in her bag and walked into the bathroom. "You seem to have things handled out here."

Clint narrowed his eyes at her as she left.

"Вы поженились?" Anna asked when the bathroom door closed. _(Are you two married?)_

Clint looked over at the girl in surprise. "Нет, а почему вы спрашиваете?" _(No, why do you ask?)_

Anna shrugged, "Вы только, кажется, как и вы." _(You just seem like it.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: "Dr. Drakov," Clint said, clearing his throat.
> 
> The doctor turned to look at him.
> 
> "My name is Clint Barton, I work for SHIELD. We're here to help you and your daughter."
> 
> Drakov shook his head. "We don't need help."


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about this chapter: I did not include the Russian when Clint and Natasha are talking to Anna. Assume they are speaking Russian to her but English with each other to keep her from understanding their conversation.
> 
> Shout out to Eistir for commenting.

 

_Unknown Location, Afghanistan—2002_

Clint's stomach roiled as he clambered out of the truck. He could smell the death in the air. His unit had been called out to help with clean up after an IED went off in a crowded market. It was his first time seeing the aftermath of an IED. A crater marked the location of the explosive. The remains closest to it were little more than charred lumps of flesh.

"Two teams," his squad leader ordered.

The unit obediently divided into two separate groups before standing and looking at the leader expectantly.

"Group one, assist with triage and medical support," he said. The soldiers indicated saluted and hurried off to begin assisting the medical team already in place.

Clint remained.

"Group two, we're going to be collecting the bodies. If you find someone still alive, hand them off to group one. Otherwise, line them up alongside the road."

The soldiers saluted and started off towards the crater.

Clint hesitated for only a moment before hurrying behind them.

It didn't take long to remove the bodies closest to the blast. Then the unit spread out. Clint found himself kneeling next to a young boy, no more than eight years old. He had a few scratches and soot marks on him. Otherwise, he seemed fine. Except his eyes, his eyes were wide open and unmoving.

Clint's chest tightened as he gathered up the small body and moved it over to the growing line of victims.

His squad leader caught his eye as he placed the boy back on the ground, closing his eyes. The man nodded to Clint and turned back to his work.

* * *

_Hotel, Grozny, Chechnya—2009_

Clint took a turn in the bathroom when Natasha came out, changing into his spare clothes. Natasha had snagged his shirt and offered it to Anna as a nightgown. When he came out, Natasha had gotten Anna into one of the beds and was telling her a Russian fairy tale. Anna's eyes were drooping as she tried to stay awake.

Clint laid down on the other bed and listened as Natasha finished the story. She turned off the light and joined him. Anna's even breathing signaled she was asleep. Clint pulled Natasha close and began to relax. Things were going well so far.

Natasha stayed curled next to Clint as he fell asleep, her mind too active to sleep herself. She couldn't get rid of the image of Clint holding Anna as they left the house. He'd looked so natural with the girl, and she'd taken to him instantly. Natasha found herself wishing for a moment that she and Clint could have a family.

Then her mind turned to the next day. She knew they had to move to get Drakov tomorrow, they couldn't risk the ring moving him now that they'd lost their hostage. But without Phil, they'd probably have to take Anna with them. Natasha didn't like the idea of taking anyone along on a hostage retrieval mission, let alone taking a six-year-old girl. It had been too easy so far, Natasha thought. They'd lucked into finding Drakov and Anna. Anna's rescue had taken next to no planning and the guards went down easily.

Maybe it was just the fact that it was Russia and she was used to things always going wrong in Russia. Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that things were going too smoothly. She knew they needed to be their best tomorrow, ready for anything.

Anna stirred in her sleep, drawing Natasha's attention. The girl was strong. Not many kids could survive a kidnapping and rescue with as much poise as Anna had. She would have made a great Red Room recruit, Natasha knew. She had no intention of letting that happen.

Anna let out a whimper. Natasha sat up slowly, it sounded like Anna was having a nightmare. A few minutes later she could hear crying.

Natasha moved to the side of the other bed, "Anna? Are you okay sweetie?"

The little girl sat up, her cheeks wet from her tears. "I had a bad dream."

"You're safe," Natasha said. She heard Clint stir behind her.

Anna nodded and sniffled. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

Natasha's throat tightened for a moment. She turned to look at Clint for his opinion. He was already making room in the bed and nodding.

"Yeah, come on," Natasha said. She picked Anna up and carried her over to the bed.

The little girl burrowed under the covers and up against Clint's side, teddy bear tucked under her arm. Natasha slid in on the other side of Anna, letting the little girl draw her closer. As Anna and Clint drifted back to sleep, Natasha felt herself relaxing and falling into unconsciousness.

* * *

Natasha and Clint woke to Anna poking each of them. She looked at them with wide eyes full of innocence as the assassins sat up and announced she was hungry.

Natasha looked at Clint, shrugged and rolled over.

Clint sighed and studied Anna, "Should we see what room service has to offer? Get dressed while I find the menu."

Anna nodded enthusiastically and clambered over Clint to get out of bed. She grabbed her clothes and ran into the bathroom. Clint leaned over and dropped a quick kiss onto Natasha's temple. He heard a giggle and looked up to see Anna ducking behind the bathroom door.

"She asked me if we were married last night," Clint told Natasha.

She stretched her arms above her head and smiled at him, "What did you tell her?"

"The truth, that we weren't. She said it seemed like it."

"You like her," Natasha remarked as Clint pulled on pants and his tac-vest.

He shrugged, "Yeah, don't you?"

"Yeah, that's the problem," Natasha said. "I also can't help but think she'd be a great Red Room recruit."

They were silent for a moment.

"We don't get to keep her," Natasha said.

Clint nodded, "Doesn't mean we can't enjoy it for now. And hey, if Drakov defects to SHIELD, we'd probably be able to keep in touch with her if we wanted to."

Natasha stood up and moved to wrap her arms around Clint for a moment. "You're such an optimist."

"Did you find the menu?" Anna asked as she came bounding out of the bathroom.

"Did you brush your teeth?" Natasha shot back.

Anna pouted and turned around.

"We've got this parenting thing down," Clint teased.

Natasha rolled her eyes and picked up her phone, "No word from Phil or SHIELD. How do we want to play this?"

Anna walked back out of the bathroom, looking expectant.

"Here you go," Clint said, handing the girl the room service menu.

She grinned at him, "Can I pick whatever I want?"

Clint nodded, "Whatever you want."

"Until we hear from Phil we have to keep her with us," Clint said. "I'm hesitant to take her with us to rescue her father but we may not have a choice…"

"It would make it easier to convince Drakov that his daughter is safe if she's with us," Natasha mused. "But it still isn't the best idea."

Clint looked over at the girl sitting on the bed. "We can't do anything until this afternoon anyway. We don't even know if Drakov is at the lab today. So let's just enjoy the hotel and the fact that SHIELD is footing the bill."

"Okay," Natasha said. She headed to the bathroom to take her turn getting ready.

When she came out, she discovered that Clint and Anna had ordered basically the entire menu for breakfast. She rolled her eyes at their exuberance and settled herself on the bed. While they ate, Anna began to ask them questions.

"Natasha, where are you from?"

"Moscow."

"Do you still live there?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Is that cause you live in America with Clint?" Anna asked.

"Kind of," Natasha said. "I live in America now."

"Do you miss Russia?"

"Sometimes. Do you miss your home?"

Anna nodded then paused and shook her head. She swallowed the bite of food. "I miss my daddy and being home with him. But as long as I was with my daddy I think I would be happy anywhere."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"Anna, what did you do while you were at Sedov's house?" Clint asked.

Anna shrugged. "They had a tutor for me. She was very strict. And once a day I was allowed to go walk around outside for fifteen minutes. And I got to watch TV for one hour before dinner if I had finished all my work. Otherwise, I played with my teddy and read. They let me see my dad a couple of times too but that was it. Are you going to take daddy and me to America with you?"

Clint looked to Natasha to answer that one.

"We'd like your dad to come work for our organization, but if he doesn't want to we'll help him get away from the bad people that took you. Then it's his choice what you guys do."

Anna nodded. "I think I want to go to America."

Clint and Natasha cleaned up the mess from breakfast and set the trays outside the room for pick up. Then they went to work planning what they could of their assault on Drakov's lab. Anna was content to sit in front of the TV for a couple of hours, talking quietly to her teddy bear every so often.

Around lunchtime, Clint left to call Fury. He and Natasha had decided to make their move that afternoon, unwilling to wait any longer and risk the ring taking Drakov.

Natasha went to sit next to Anna and explain to her what they were going to do.

"You're worried," Anna said after a minute of silence.

Natasha looked at the girl, "You're very perceptive."

Anna shrugged.

"We're going to rescue your father," she began. Stomach clenching at the joy that lit up Anna's face. "But because we can't contact our handler, we have to take you with us."

"I want to go!"

Natasha shook her head. "It's going to be very dangerous and there's a chance that we might not win."

"What happens if you lose?"

"Your dad stays with the bad guys, hopefully we all are still alive and unharmed."

"Oh."

"Anna," Natasha said, voice deadly serious. "You have to do everything we tell you to when we go, okay?"

Anna nodded. "I promise."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Do you remember being six?" Anna asked suddenly.

Natasha cocked her head and nodded slowly. She could tell that Anna wanted to know more. She took a deep breath, "I loved to dance and I loved my parents. My mom was going to have another baby soon and my dad was a scientist."

"Just like my dad," Anna said.

"Yeah."

"Something happened to them, didn't it?"

"They died in a hospital fire," Natasha said softly. "Someone stopped me from running into the building. After that I went to live in the Red Room. It was a training facility for spies and assassins."

"So you and Clint are spies."

Natasha nodded, "We are. We've both done very bad things in the past, but we're trying to be good now."

Anna smiled, "You saved me, that was good. I think you're both good and I trust you. You'll save my dad. And then we can go live in America!"

It was Natasha's turn to smile. "I hope so."

Clint came back in and nodded to Natasha.

"Okay," she said turning to Anna. "Here's the plan. You're going to stay with Clint. I'm going to create a really big distraction so that you two can get into the building and find your dad."

Anna nodded.

"You have to do everything Clint tells you to," Natasha said again.

"I know. I will."

Neither assassin doubted the sincerity of her words.

* * *

_Foreign Intelligence Service Offices, Grozny, Chechnya—2009_

Phil's neck hurt from sleeping in the chair he'd been unceremoniously shoved into earlier in the night. The police had brought him to a government building and placed him in an interrogation room. His hands were uncuffed but the door had been locked. Nothing was in the room except the table and chair. A two-way mirror took up most of the wall across from him. They had left the lights on all night.

Phil had eventually grown bored of waiting for someone to come in and decided he may as well use the opportunity to sleep. He'd woken after a few hours, annoyed to find he was still alone.

He stood and began to walk around the room, loosening his muscles and rolling his head side to side in an effort to relax his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of movement behind the mirror. Phil smirked to himself, good, they were watching. After a couple of laps around the room he felt better and resumed his seat.

He didn't move for the next hour, until his head snapped around to look at the door a second before it opened.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair entered. "Phil Coulson?"

Phil nodded. She spoke with a Russian accent.

"My name is Marta Ivchenko," she said. "I work for the Foreign Intelligence Service."

"Good," Phil said. "Then you know about SHIELD. You have compromised our operation here and you need to release me immediately."

The woman shook her head, "I can't do that."

Phil rolled his eyes. "We both know that you are going to release me, I'm not going to give you any information, so why waste time interrogating me?"

"We are checking with SHIELD about your claim," Marta said. "Until we receive confirmation from them you will submit to questioning."

"Give me a phone and I'll get the Director of SHIELD on the line," Phil offered.

"As I said, we're already checking on your claim to be with SHIELD. For now, we'll proceed with the assumption that you are somehow affiliated with them. Would you care to tell me why SHIELD is running an operation in Russia without informing the Foreign Intelligence Service."

"Our operation is highly sensitive. It was deemed need to know, and we don't believe that the Foreign Intelligence Service needs to know."

Marta made a note in the file in front of her.

"Allow me to call my superiors and we can clear all of this up," Phil demanded.

"You're very impatient."

Phil took a deep breath to keep himself calm. "As _I_ said, you are compromising our operation. My agents are in the field without support now."

Marta stood and signaled to the watchers behind the mirror. "You have other operatives with you? How many?"

Phil remained silent.

"We will find them, Mr. Coulson."

"Agent."

Her lips curled into a cold smile, "Excuse me, _Agent_ Coulson. We searched the house you were occupying. There was evidence of recent use in the incinerator."

Phil smirked, glad that he'd thwarted them somewhat.

"What did you destroy?"

"Top secret information," Phil replied.

Marta looked down at the file in front of her and flipped a page. "Have you been to Russia before, Agent Coulson?"

"I have."

"When?"

"The last time was in February of 2008. We destroyed a HYDRA base for you."

"Why didn't SHIELD contact us to inform us of an intelligence operation on Russian soil?"

Phil shrugged, "All I know is that this mission was deemed highest priority with minimal personnel involved. You'd have to talk to my boss to find out why he didn't notify you."

Marta remained silent.

Phil examined the woman for a minute before shrugging and leaning back in his chair. He wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Until she received official orders to release him, Marta wasn't going to let him out of her sight. "Any chance of getting a bathroom break? I've been in this room for a while."

She hesitated before nodding. An armed officer opened the door and escorted Phil out and to the bathroom. When they returned to the room, Marta was waiting for them. She'd procured a chair for herself.

"I could use a drink," Phil said as he took his seat.

She didn't move.

Phil shrugged, "You want me to talk but that's going to be pretty difficult. My mouth is already getting dry."

"Please bring Agent Coulson a glass of water," Marta said with a sigh.

"Why are you in Russia?" she asked after the water was delivered.

Phil fought to keep from rolling his eyes. "I told you, we're running an operation."

"Yes," Marta replied with a glance down at her notes. "You said it was 'highest priority' and 'need to know.' Well let me assure, I need to know. What was the operation?"

"I can't reveal that."

"You are not leaving this room until you do."

"I've got my orders," Phil said. "You've got yours."

Marta pulled a picture out of the file. It was of Anton Drakov. "Our techs were able to pull a few damaged files off of your computer. Why are you looking for Anton Drakov?"

"Drakov is a person of interest in our investigation. Any information you have in regards to him would be helpful," Phil said carefully.

Marta narrowed her eyes, "I'll ask again: what is the operation?"

Phil shook his head, "I can't tell you. And honestly, I don't want to."

Marta stood up, "I'll come back later, perhaps you'll be more willing to talk then."

"SHIELD will be able to verify who I am. Perhaps you should contact them," Phil shot back.

The woman left without another word. Phil found himself starting to worry the longer he sat in the interrogation room. He didn't know where his agents were or what they were planning to do. He needed to get out of custody but they were stonewalling all attempts to contact SHIELD.

About an hour after Marta left, lunch was delivered. Phil forced himself to eat, ignoring the knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

When Marta finally returned, Phil was angry.

"Did you contact SHIELD yet?"

"We're waiting to hear back from them," Marta said dismissively.

"Last time you were in Russia, you were in the company of Hawkeye and the Black Widow, is that correct?"

"Yes. Both are agents of SHIELD."

"Based on our files, Hawkeye is a mercenary and the Black Widow works for a rogue agency known as the Red Room."

"Your files are a few years out of date then," Phil said through gritted teeth.

"They're assassins."

"That is one of their skill sets."

"Who are you here to kill?"

"You're assuming the operation is an assassination," Phil pointed out.

Marta raised an eyebrow, "You're not denying that it is. Is Anton Drakov the target?"

Phil refused to respond.

"Why is the Foreign Intelligence Service determined to ruin our operation?" Phil asked after a few moments.

Marta shook her head, "If it turns out that this is a legitimate SHIELD operation, you'll be released. However, until we can verify that, we must treat you as a hostile foreign agent. What is your operation?"

Phil raised an eyebrow at the repetitive question and crossed his arms. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of answering anymore questions.

Marta continued to question Phil for another hour and a half without any responses. She finally left out of frustration.

Twenty minutes later the door opened again and a man walked in followed by Marta.

"Our apologies Agent Coulson, you're free to go," the man said.

Phil glared at him and at Marta, "You finally heard from SHIELD."

"There was some miscommunication," the man allowed. "Please accept our apologies and let us know if you require any assistance. All of your belongings have been returned to the house. We wouldn't want to take up any more of your time."

Phil paused for a moment, "I'd like to borrow a phone."

"Of course," the man said, "Marta will take care of that and then show you out."

Frustrated, Phil followed Marta to set of desks and cubicles. She stepped respectfully away after showing him the phone.

Fury answered immediately, "Fury."

"It's Coulson. What the hell is going on?" Phil demanded.

"Your agents are making their move now. You should have been released a while ago," Fury said. "I take it the Russians took their time."

"Yeah," Phil snarled. "What do you mean they're making their move?"

"Is this line secure?"

Phil sighed, "I'm headed back to the safe house. Is there anything I need to know right now?"

"They've got the girl with them," Fury said.

"Shit. I'll contact you when I'm back at the house."

Phil hung out and looked expectantly at Marta. He was beyond ready to leave.

* * *

Anna and Clint watched as Natasha walked away from them. They were hidden at the mouth of an alley near Drakov's laboratory. She was on her way to stage some sort of distraction that would get the guards away from the building long enough for Clint and Anna to break in. Anna didn't know what the distraction would be.

She also didn't know what exactly it was that had the assassins so worried about the plan for the day. They'd taken her up to a rooftop and let her see her dad in his lab. Then they'd gone back to speaking English and planning. There was something wrong, Anna just didn't know what it was.

Anna took a step closer to Clint.

He smiled down at her, "It'll be okay."

She just nodded, uncertainty still filling her eyes.

Clint knelt beside Anna and grabbed her shoulders. "Anna, trust me. You are going to get back to your dad."

"You're worried though," Anna said, biting her lip. She hadn't wanted to let him know that she'd noticed, it just slipped out.

Clint huffed a slight laugh, "Yeah, but we're always a little worried before an op. The bad guys didn't do what we expected them to do. There seem to be less guards than the other day when we were watching."

"Oh."

"Less guards is good," Clint said. "It's just unexpected. So, we're going to be extra careful going in, okay?"

Anna nodded, "Okay."

"You ready?" Clint asked.

"Yeah." Anna squared her shoulders.

Clint tapped his earpiece, "We're ready when you are."

Anna didn't hear the reply but she knew Natasha said something from he way Clint's lips twitched into a quick smile.

* * *

Natasha had decided to create a large explosion at the end of the street, enough to draw the guards away from the building out of curiosity and a vague sense of duty. It would be a slight threat to their charge.

When she and Clint had noticed the absence of a guard inside the lab with Drakov she'd hesitated to commit to something so big. If there was really only the guy on the door, he might not fall for something like that. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. If she had been running Drakov, she would have at least doubled his guards after losing Anna.

Then again, doing so would have probably tipped Drakov off that something was off.

She sighed as she walked away from Anna and Clint. An explosion would still work best. She'd packed a small brick of C-4 and pulled it out now. She slipped across the street and bent down next to a car two buildings down from the guard. It didn't take long to stick the C-4 beneath the car, next to the wheel. She then made sure to stand and catch the guards attention. Feeling his gaze on her, she started walking farther down the street, knowing that her strange apparel was keeping the guard focused on her.

Far enough away to avoid the worst of the blast, Natasha turned and made eye contact with the guard. He stood and started walking towards her, hand straying inside his jacket to his gun. Natasha lifted the hand with the trigger in it so he could see it.

"Stop," he called to her.

She waited until he was just a few feet from the car before she flipped the switch.

The explosion knocked her back a few steps and sent the guard flying through the air to slam into a brick wall. His head rested strangely on his shoulder, his body too still. The few pedestrians around began to scream while the surrounding business found their customers frozen. Then chaos erupted. People poured out from the buildings, some moving towards the car, some fleeing, and most pulling out their phones to call for help or to record the scene.

Natasha saw Clint and Anna bolting across the street and into the apartment. She took a deep breath and forced herself to start moving again. She'd need to get into the building too, but she'd have to go around to avoid the crowd ringing the destroyed car.

So far, no one had left the building that Drakov was in.

She had to work her way out for several blocks before being able to head back towards the building. She knew there was a back entrance, locked except for use in emergencies. She should be able to break into it.

Natasha picked up her pace. She didn't like splitting up with Clint and Anna and just wanted to catch back up to them. It took her a few minutes of work to get the lock open and then she was inside.

Immediately, she sensed something was wrong. There was no movement in the building. And beneath the normal smells of an apartment building, there was a faint coppery tang. Natasha's nostrils flared. She knew that scent well—blood. What had the ring done?

She moved farther into the hall, freezing when she saw a flicker of movement behind a half closed door. A thud came from inside and then the door was opening again. A large man, dressed all in black walked out holding a revolver and silencer. He looked like the guard from inside Drakov's apartment.

Natasha didn't dare to blink, hoping he wouldn't turn and look at her. It seemed their luck had finally run out on the mission. He turned and froze at the sight of the woman all in black with her fiery red hair. Then he was raising his gun.

Natasha lunged forward startling the man and causing the shot to go wide. She rammed her knee into the man's stomach and grabbed his wrist. He clung to the gun, trying to bring it around to get a shot off. Her fingers dug into the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, hitting a nerve and causing him to let go.

The gun went off again as it fell from the man's fingers.

Natasha cursed as she felt the bullet graze her side. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a gunshot wound.

The man brought his other arm up and slammed it into Natasha, making her lose her balance. Natasha spun around but not before the man had wrapped his arms around her and begun to squeeze as hard as he could. Natasha kicked down at him, unable to land a solid blow. She changed her angle and kicked out at the wall, bracing her feet against it and using it to push herself backwards. The man stumbled and fell.

Natasha managed to roll away and pull out one of her guns. She took aim as the man climbed to his knees. Two rounds sank into his heart a moment later.

Before he hit the ground, Natasha was moving. She opened the door to the apartment he had just left and took in the scene. He'd shot the occupants—an elderly couple and someone who looked like their son. She imagined she'd find a similar scene in the other apartments on this floor.

Moving cautiously through the building, Natasha found no signs of other people. She kept to the stairs, guns at the ready. When she came to the third floor she stopped and opened the door slowly.

A body lay in the middle of the hall. She crept closer and saw what looked like an arrow wound through the man's throat. She nodded in satisfaction and stepped over to the door cracked open. She could hear voices.

When she opened the door, she brought her gun up, firing half a second after Clint did.

* * *

_A few minutes earlier…_

Clint had taken down the guard in the hall outside of Drakov's lab easily. Anna hadn't even blanched as they hurried past the body. Clint had retrieved his arrow and shoved it back in the quiver, opening the door to the apartment they'd labeled as Drakov's lab. It was unlocked.

"Anna," Clint said. "Stay behind me until I make sure there aren't any more guards."

Anna nodded and did as instructed. Inside, Clint typed in the code to disable the security system. Drake sat hunched over a table, he didn't even look up at the intrusion.

A quick look around the room showed that it was empty beyond the three of them.

Clint nodded to Anna and she ran to the man at the table.

"Daddy!"

Drakov looked up, eyes slightly unfocused. He seemed confused. "Anna?"

She nodded and stepped closer to him.

"Dr. Drakov," Clint said, clearing his throat.

The doctor turned to look at him.

"My name is Clint Barton, I work for SHIELD. We're here to help you and your daughter."

Drakov shook his head. "We don't need help."

"Sir?" Clint asked confused by the statement. "Aren't you being forced to work for the ring because they had your daughter?"

"Yes," Drakov muttered. "They have my Anna. I made their drug but it's not enough they say. They need it to be more powerful, more addictive."

"Dr. Drakov," Clint said softly. "Anna is here, she's safe. We need to leave. Now."

He shook his head, "Can't."

"Why not?"

Drakov's gaze focused on Clint as he lifted up the syringe he'd prepared. "I won't let them have us."

"Let who have you? The ring?" Clint asked, starting to panic. The man was clearly insane. He gestured for Anna to come back.

She hesitated for half a second then took a step towards Clint. Her father's hand shot out and grabbed her arm, immobilizing her.

Clint's fingers tensed on his bow. Where was Natasha?

"Clint," Anna whispered, eyes wide with fright. "I'm scared."

"Let her go," Clint ordered. "You're hurting her."

"I won't let them take her again."

Clint shook his head, "No one is going to take her. You have to come with us now. We can protect you."

Anna tried to pull away. Drakov tightened his grip, eliciting a whimper from her. Anna's eyes filled with tears and she fought to get away from her father. Drakov brought his arm around her body, pinning her against him. He brought the other hand with the syringe up to her neck.

"Don't do it!" Clint yelled, his arrow pointed at Drakov's eye.

Drakov looked at the other man. "I have to."

He pressed the plunger down on the syringe as Clint fired. A loud crack announced Natasha's arrival. Drakov fell to the ground alongside Anna. The girl's eyes were closed, her limbs limp.

"NO!" Clint shouted as he ran forward, kicking the syringe away.

Natasha hurried after him, pausing to examine the syringe. She looked over at her partner, cradling the little girl. "It's the drug."

"No," Clint said again, this time barely more than a whisper.

Natasha moved to kneel beside him, her fingers finding the quick pulse in Anna's wrist. The assassins sat in silence, focused entirely on Anna. Her heartbeat slowed dramatically, becoming little more than an erratic flutter.

"We have to do something," Clint begged.

Natasha looked at him, hopeless. They both knew there was nothing they could do that would change it.

Anna's breathing stopped, a moment later, Natasha lost her pulse.

Clint let out a ragged sob, pulling her body close to his chest. Natasha felt tears slide down her cheeks.

"Come out with your hands up," a gruff voice demanded from outside the lab.

Both assassins remained still for another moment.

"We know you're in there. Come out or we open fire."

"We have to go," Natasha whispered.

Clint nodded, eyes never leaving Anna's face.

"Clint," Natasha said softly. "We have to get out of here. I don't know how many are out there. We have to finish the mission. For Ives. For Faulk. For Anna." She choked a bit on the last word.

Clint set Anna down gently next to her father.

"Let's go." His voice was deadly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment.
> 
>  
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: Clint was pulling a t-shirt over his head when he walked out of the bedroom.
> 
> "Nat will be out soon."
> 
> Phil raised an eyebrow as he caught sight of the scratch marks on his agent's back before the shirt covered them.
> 
> "What?" Clint asked at the look. "We were quiet."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.
> 
> Thank you Eistir for commenting.

 

_A Hospital, Northern California—2000_

Clint woke to searing pain and an annoying beeping. Opening his eyes only made it worse, the bright light from above blinded him. He tried to swear but found nothing more than a croak escaped his dry throat. _Where was he?_

The memories hit him then: standing in the rain, then running, away from Barney. He wasn't fast enough though. Barney caught him and—and—

The beeping grew faster and louder as he breathing sped up. Clint tried to open his eyes again, getting enough of an image this time to see white walls and ceiling. He forced his lids open and ignored the stab that went through his head at the light.

A middle-aged woman ran into the room and placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down on the bed. "Relax."

Clint coughed, choking on the air he was gasping in.

"You need to relax. You're at a hospital. You were stabbed."

Barney had stabbed him.

"Here," the nurse said, holding something against his lips as the coughing subsided.

Clint gulped down the water that slid into his mouth.

"How long?" he finally managed to ask.

"A week. We kept you sedated for a few days after the surgery to repair the damage," the nurse explained. "I need to check the bandage, make sure you didn't pull a stitch. Lean forward."

Clint obeyed, running on autopilot as his brain tried to catch up. A week, that meant the circus was still there. But they wouldn't be for much longer. One more day, if he remembered the schedule right.

"I need to get back to the circus," Clint said when he was allowed to lean back again.

The nurse snorted. "The knife barely missed your heart. You're not going anywhere, kid."

Clint's eyes widened. "You can't make me stay. I'm healed, I can go."

"Not without doctor approval. And the police want to talk to you. Kid gets stabbed, people ask questions."

Clint shook his head.

The nurse sighed, "Listen, I can tell you're going to be stubborn. Why don't you just relax for a few hours. Your friends usually come by in the early afternoon. You can talk with them and then we can decide what your recovery is going to look like."

"Uh—okay," Clint stuttered. _What friends would be checking on him?_

* * *

_Apartment Building, Grozny, Chechnya—2009_

Clint rocked back onto his heels and looked at Natasha.

She was examining the lab around them.

"You got a plan?" Clint asked.

Natasha hesitated, "We could blow the place."

Clint shook his head. "No more collateral damage."

Something changed in Natasha's eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"When I came in I ran into the guard from earlier, he'd just killed the occupants of an apartment on the first floor. I could smell blood, so I'm assuming that there aren't any living civilians in the building."

Clint swore.

"Hawkeye, Widow," Phil's voice filtered through the comm.

"Coulson?" Clint asked in shock.

"Yeah, I'm back. Sit-rep."

"We're trapped in Drakov's lab," Natasha reported. "We were just debating the merits of blowing the place."

"What about Anna and Drakov?"

"He killed her," Clint said shortly.

Phil was silent. He could tell from the brevity of his agent's words that there was more to the story. "Civilian casualties are a risk if the explosion is too large."

Natasha shook her head, "From what I saw coming in, the ring seems to have cleaned house and killed all civilians still in the building."

"I trust your judgment," Phil said.

Natasha looked at Clint, "It's the best way to be certain we get everyone involved with the ring now."

"Where is Sedov?" Clint asked.

"Don't know," Phil replied. "I'm working on finding out his location now."

The three agents were silent for a minute as they all thought through their options.

"Blow it," Clint finally said.

"Good luck," Phil told them.

Natasha stood up and moved over to one of the shelves. She began sifting through the various bottles. Finally pulling out two small canisters with a triumphant grin.

"Hydrogen gas and oxygen," she told Clint. "Highly explosive when combined and ignited."

"You know what you're doing?" he asked.

Natasha nodded, "I've seen it done before. We're going to rig an igniter for both of these. You have a grappling arrow?"

"I do."

"Good, get it ready to go. Once I've got these ready, we'll need to get out quickly."

Clint watched as Natasha rigged a basic fuse using some string and oil she'd found among the lab equipment.

He nodded when she looked at him. He was ready.

"Now," she said, twisting the canisters to release a minuscule amount of each gas. She struck a match and lit the fuse.

While she did that, Clint hooked his grappling arrow just below the window ledge. He tested the cord to make sure it was connected and waited for his partner.

Natasha raced over to the window and grabbed onto Clint. Together they jumped out, sliding down the side of the building as the cord unraveled above them. They came to a stop six feet off the ground. Natasha didn't hesitate to let go, jarring her knees on the impact. Clint dropped a moment later and they both started sprinting down the street.

A loud boom and wave of heat had both of them turning back for a moment to see the damage.

Natasha smirked and sped up to keep pace with her partner.

It was time to end this.

They were nearing the safe house when Phil called them. "I found Sedov."

"Where?" Clint snarled, slowing to a walk.

Natasha worked to even out her breathing.

"On a jet, he's headed to Sofia, Bulgaria."

Clint's jaw clenched in anger.

"I'm already contacting SHIELD to get permission to pursue."

Clint broke into a sprint.

"We're almost back," Natasha said before taking off again.

Phil was waiting at the door for them when they walked into the safe house.

"Fury says we can pursue, but there isn't a SHIELD safe house in Sofia," Phil reported as the assassins traipsed into the building.

"When do we leave?" Clint demanded.

"Tonight," Phil said. "You want to fill me in on what happened after you rescued Anna?"

Clint sank into one of the chairs and looked down.

"We got Anna out," Natasha said. "It was easy and then we headed to a hotel for the night. She was sweet and very brave. Anyway, the next day we decided to go after Drakov but we had to bring Anna with us. It was a calculated risk but she promised to do everything we said."

"Natasha created a distraction," Clint picked up the story. "She got rid of the guard on the outside of the building so Anna and I could get it. We made it to Drakov's lab but instead of agreeing to leave with us, he grabbed Anna. He'd gone crazy."

Clint stopped speaking.

Natasha watched him for a moment before continuing, "When I got up to the lab, he was injecting something into Anna's neck. Clint and I both shot him, but it was too late. He'd injected Anna with a massive dose of the drug. She was dead a minute later."

Phil's throat tightened. He knew enough about his agents to read between the lines, they'd bonded with the girl and were both taking her death hard. Blaming themselves, he thought.

"Let's go get Sedov. He's hunkering down in Sofia. SHIELD has been tracking the other names on the list Natasha recovered and they all seem to be headed to Sofia," Phil said.

Clint and Natasha both nodded. They were more than ready.

"Get cleaned up and changed," Phil ordered. "We need to head straight to the airport."

"What happened to you?" Clint asked as he stood up.

Phil made a face, "Foreign Intelligence Service picked me up. They held me for close to twenty-four hours before giving up and accepting SHIELD's confirmation of my identity. I'm sorry."

Clint shrugged, "Nothing you could do about it."

He headed to the bedroom, following Natasha. She immediately pulled out clean clothes and turned on the shower. Clint peeled off his weapons and vest, setting them on the bed to look over before they left.

Without asking, he stepped into the shower behind Natasha. She moved aside to let him under the water before wrapping her arms around him. Clint couldn't see her face, but he knew from the way her shoulders shook that she was crying. Anna's death had broken her heart too.

"I promised her everything would be okay," Clint said softly.

Natasha nodded, taking a shuddering breath, "So did I."

"She shouldn't have died."

"No."

The two were silent for a moment.

"I don't know what to do," Natasha admitted.

Clint shook his head, "I don't know either."

They held each other, grieving the loss of the little girl they'd barely gotten to know.

* * *

_Sofia, Bulgaria—2009_

It took the trio over an hour to get through customs in Bulgaria. Once in the airport, Phil led the way to a car rental desk.

"So there's no safe house," Clint said. "Where are we going to stay?"

"Hotel," Phil said. "It shouldn't be too hard to find a room."

"I've got a safe house we can use," Natasha offered.

The men looked at her in surprise.

She gave them a wry smile. "It seemed prudent to have a place close to Russia so I could get away in a hurry."

"The Red Room doesn't know about it?" Clint asked.

Natasha shook her head, "I took extra care to ensure they didn't know anything. There's another one on the outskirts of the city they do know about."

"Looks like you're driving," Phil said as they stepped up to the counter.

The agents were silent as they drove through the city, stopping outside of Natasha's safe house. She led the way in, making sure the other two could see the code she entered so they'd be able to access it later.

"We have no way to find Sedov," Clint grumbled as they started to unpack their gear.

Natasha shrugged, "I'll go check in with some of my old contacts, they may be able to help us out."

She armed herself and left, taking the car keys with her.

Phil continued setting up the computers they had with them. "SHIELD has access to cameras all over the city, we're going to start sweeping them for any image of Sedov."

"And how long will that take?" Clint demanded.

Phil shrugged, "It's better than nothing."

"Sedov isn't stupid, he'll keep clear of any cameras."

"Would you rather search the city block by block?" Phil shot back.

Clint looked down.

"All we need is to catch a glimpse of him or a known associate on one camera," Phil said.

He didn't reply.

"Clint," Phil said after a few minutes. "You want to talk about it?"

Clint stood up. "No."

"Well too damn bad. This mission is really messing with you, I can tell."

Clint looked mutinous for a second before accepting that his handler wasn't going to let this go. "Everyone connected to the ring that we've tried to help is dead. Faulk, Ives, Drakov, Anna…"

Phil's heart clenched at the pain in his agent's eyes when he said the last name.

"She got to you."

"Got to me? You mean did I care about her? Because the answer is yes, I did. And so did Tasha."

"I understand that she was a little girl, she didn't deserve to die. But what happened while I was in custody?"

Clint shook his head, unsure how to answer. "It's more than her age. She had been kidnapped and held hostage for months, yet she wasn't broken. How many six year olds do you know that could handle that? She just wanted us to save her dad so they could go live in America. We promised we would."

"It's not your fault," Phil said.

"There's a part of me that thinks that, but a much bigger part knows that's not true," Clint said. "We should have found somewhere safe to leave her. We should have realized that Drakov had lost it. We should have been faster to take him down. We should have been able to keep her alive."

"Drakov was the one who injected her, not you," Phil said softly.

"Knowing that isn't going to stop me from blaming myself."

"I get the feeling she would have forgiven you."

Clint didn't say anything. He shuffled out of the room, pain and anger leaking from him.

Phil sighed and sat down, he knew he wouldn't be able to do more for his agent. Clint would have to work through his pain about losing Anna himself, maybe Natasha would be able to get through to him. But if he was right, she was in a similar place.

When Clint emerged from the other room, he had changed clothes and showered. He took a seat across from Phil.

The older man waited patiently for him to speak.

"She asked if Nat and I were married," Clint said. "For a little bit, I got to imagine what it would be like to have a wife and a kid."

"You liked it."

Clint nodded. "But I know it's not possible. Not in this line of work and not with Natasha. There's a part of me that figured if we couldn't save Drakov, we'd just keep taking care of Anna. Of all the ways this could have gone wrong, I didn't think Anna would die."

"You could get out," Phil offered after a minute.

A sardonic smile fell across Clint's face, "Yeah? How?"

Phil hesitated.

"SHIELD won't just let us walk away, and even if they did, we've made too many enemies out there. Natasha and I, we aren't the kind of agents that just get to walk away at the end of the day."

"I'm sorry," Phil said. And he was, he found himself wondering if it might have been better for him to never recruit Clint.

"For what?"

"For making this your life?" Phil offered.

Clint shook his head, "Phil, I was in way over my head before I met you. You're the reason I'm still alive. I made my own choices that led to me being here."

"Okay."

The men were silent for a moment.

"Any food here?" Clint asked.

Phil shook his head, "I don't think Natasha has been here since she defected."

"Probably not," Clint agreed. "I'm going to go find something."

Phil nodded, "I've almost got everything set up to start the search for Sedov, by the time you get back we should be up and running."

* * *

_Natasha's Safe House, Sofia, Bulgaria—2009_

_One week later…_

Natasha was struggling not to twitch as Clint continued to bounce the ball he'd found off the walls and floor of her safe house while she read. Phil sat at his computer, seemingly oblivious to the rhythmic thumping. The ball should have done more to ease Clint's edginess than it did. He was tired of sitting around, just hoping Sedov would drop into their laps.

"Would you stop?" Natasha finally snapped.

Clint caught the ball and shot her an apologetic look, he knew it was driving her crazy too. After a minute of sitting still, Clint started tapping his feet and drumming softly on his thighs.

Natasha huffed slightly and tried to focus on reading.

"Anything yet?" Clint demanded, standing and moving to stand behind Coulson.

Phil shook his head, "As soon as there's something I'll tell you."

The younger man sighed and sat back down. He tossed the ball between his hands before bouncing it once, almost experimentally.

Natasha snapped her book shut and stood up. She shoved Clint back in his chair and straddled him, pressing her lips against his in an aggressive kiss. The ball fell from Clint's fingers as he moved his hands to grab onto Natasha's waist.

Phil looked up as the ball dribbled across the floor. He rolled his eyes at the sight of his agents, that would be how they decided to handle their inactivity. He sighed loudly, causing them to break apart. Natasha shrugged at him and pulled Clint up, dragging him to the bedroom and firmly shutting the door. Phil decided it would be prudent to use headphones for the foreseeable future.

Natasha shoved Clint towards the bed once inside the room. He pulled her with him, falling back with her on top. Their mouths dueled, teeth and tongues clashing together. Clint's fingers twined through Natasha's hair and pulled it slightly, earning him a groan.

In retaliation, her hands ran up his shirt brushing across his nipples and running down his sides.

Clint let go of her long enough to drag his shirt over his head, raising an eyebrow at her to do the same. Natasha's shirt slipped off and he unhooked her bra with nimble fingers. Natasha straddled him again, grinding down against the growing erection she could feel. His breathing picked up and he sat up, wrapping his arm around her waist and biting at her throat.

Natasha could feel heat building low in her abdomen. She moved a bit faster, driving herself higher as Clint sucked on her neck. He moved down her chest to bite and suck at her breasts, one hand caressing the one left alone by his mouth. Her nipple tightened beneath his archery roughened fingers. Bringing her head down, Natasha took the change in angle as an opportunity to attack Clint's neck. She moved her way up to the spot just below his ear and mouthed at it.

"Pants…Off…" Clint gasped pushing her back.

Natasha rolled off him, shimmying out of her pants and shoes as he did the same. The crashed back together, a faint sheen of sweat covering them.

Clint's fingers found his way between Natasha's legs, flicking at her clit before brushing between her lips and pressing into her. She was wet and ready.

"Want to fuck you," she said.

More than happy to obliged, Clint rolled onto his back and grabbed her hips as she moved to rock against him.

"Tasha," he groaned, half annoyed at her teasing.

She grabbed his length and lowered herself onto it, letting out a breathy moan as he stretched her. Natasha set the pace, quick and shallow as she moved over him. She could feel herself spiraling higher with each snap of her hips.

Clint sat up suddenly, driving himself deeper into her at the change in angle. He grabbed her hair again and dragged her lips to meet his. She bit his lower lip in retaliation, tongue gliding over to sooth the ache a moment later. He could feel his climax approaching. Her walls clenched around him as he quickened the pace.

Natasha dug her fingers into Clint's back to help keep herself upright as he pounded into her. She was close. Her nails raked across his back, earning her a hiss. He tugged on her hair again and fucked her harder.

"Yes," Natasha gasped at the change in pace, grinding her clit against his groin with each thrust. She tipped over the edge with a low groan, pleasure radiating through her as her walls clenched around Clint. His thrusts became more erratic and a moment later he stilled beneath her, cock pumping into her as he climaxed.

The pair collapsed together on top of the bed, still pressed close together as the pleasure subsided.

"I needed that," Natasha half laughed after she caught her breath.

Clint chuckled, "Me too. It's been a while."

They were silent for a few minutes, simply enjoying relaxing in each other's presence.

"I miss her," Natasha said finally.

Clint's throat tightened. He swallowed hard and ignored the burning in his eyes. Natasha shifted next to him to be able to wrap her arm across his torso.

"Somewhere in the day she was with us, I started thinking that she'd kind of always be there," Clint admitted.

She squeezed him slightly, understanding his pain.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Clint moved to kiss Natasha softly. She responded just as gently, allowing him to roll her onto her back and drape himself over her. The pair continued to kiss, savoring the slow build compared to their earlier coupling. A knock on the door had them breaking apart and glaring at the door together.

"Get dressed," Phil commanded, somewhat muffled by the wood. "I've found something."

Natasha sighed as Clint rolled off her, "We can never catch a break."

He nodded in agreement before answering Phil, "Be out in a bit."

"I need a shower," Natasha said, sitting up with and stretching. Clint found himself staring at her body, he shook his head and headed to the bathroom behind her. He needed one too.

Clint was pulling a t-shirt over his head when he walked out of the bedroom.

"Nat will be out soon."

Phil raised an eyebrow as he caught sight of the scratch marks on his agent's back before the shirt covered them.

"What?" Clint asked at the look. "We were quiet."

Phil rolled his eyes, "You could have put the shirt on before you came out. I didn't need to know any more than I already did."

Clint grinned, "Jealous."

"Not really, I'd be afraid she'd kill me," he paused. "Then again, maybe that's part of the appeal for you."

It was Clint's turn to roll his eyes.

"Phil, we need to find you a girl."

Natasha walked out of the bedroom and gave Phil a cheeky grin, he could see a bruise forming on her neck.

"The two of you have no shame," he muttered.

"What did you find?" Natasha asked as she moved to look at the computer set up at the table, Clint following her over.

"Sedov. Well really, Ratomir Kovač, his driver," Phil said. "He's a Serbian national who's been working for Sedov for nearly five years. We caught him on a security camera parking a car outside of a warehouse. He hasn't exited yet."

"Let's get moving," Clint said. He starting packing up his gear.

"If they're hiding out there," Natasha said. "They have to be getting food from somewhere nearby since we haven't seen them yet."

"I'll start looking for cameras around stores in the area," Phil nodded.

"How certain are we that they're there?" Natasha asked.

Phil pulled up the footage of Kovač and played it for the assassins.

"That's where they are," Clint said with certainty. "We need to move on them now."

"What if you're wrong?" Phil cautioned.

"Then we've wasted a few hours and maybe caught one of Sedov's associates," Natasha pointed out.

"You want to go in without any surveillance?" Phil said.

"I don't want to risk us missing them because we waited to act."

Phil looked doubtful.

Natasha shrugged, "I've gone in without prep before and things worked out"

"There could be hundreds of soldiers in there for all we know," Phil argued.

Natasha and Clint exchanged a look before shrugging.

"We've already spent too much time watching these guys. It's time to end this," Natasha stated.

"Did you guys make some sort of suicide pact I didn't know about?" Phil asked.

Clint shook his head, "We'll be fine, Phil. Don't worry."

"I've got extra arms and ammunition stored here we can take in addition to our SHIELD stuff," Natasha pointed out.

* * *

_Approximately 24 hours later…_

_Warehouse, Sofia, Bulgaria—2009_

Clint and Natasha lurked in the shadows across the street from the warehouse. They'd spent all day taking turns to watch and report to Phil. The frequency detectors made it too risky for either of them to wear comms near the warehouse. It meant they were going to have do this without Phil being directly in contact.

The two assassins bristled with their chosen weapons: knives, arrows, guns, grenades. Natasha strapped a third ammo belt around herself and turned to face Clint. He was struggling to shove another handful of arrows into one of the already-overflowing quivers on his back.

"Let me," Natasha said softly, moving to stand behind him and wiggling the arrows into place.

Clint turned to face her, bringing one gloved hand up to caress her cheek. "Tasha…"

She allowed herself to tilt her head into his hand for a moment before leaning up to kiss him.

He nodded when they broke apart, eyes shifting to steel.

Nothing else remained to be said. They both knew the risks. They weren't leaving without destroying the ring.

Clint and Natasha stole across the open ground between buildings. Natasha stopped mid-reach for her lock picks when Clint pushed the door open. He raised his eyebrows and quirked his lips. Natasha frowned. Every instinct screamed to get out now. Sedov knew he was being targeted. Leaving the door unlocked only proved it was a trap.

"How many do you think they've got?" Clint whispered.

Natasha thought for a moment, "Over fifty. They wouldn't be so cocky with anything less."

The pair crept through the warehouse, eyes constantly darting to the shadows created by the stacked crates. The large warehouse felt almost labyrinthine. A hint of movement above the assassins sent them diving for cover among the crates a moment before the crack of a sniper rifle echoed, nearly masking the ping of the second bullet as it bounced off a metal crate. Natasha raised an eyebrow at Clint when she saw he'd gone for cover behind one of the stacks of wooden crates instead of the more bullet-proof metal ones.

He shrugged and gestured with his drawn bow to the left where the movement had come from. Natasha nodded and held her breath as he stepped out and let the arrow fly. A satisfying thump announced the fall off the sniper from his roost. In the same heartbeat, the wooden crate inches from where Clint had stood to take the shot exploded into splinters.

Natasha slipped away through the towering stacks of crates. Clint checked his weapons again as he waited for her to return. He was starting to worry when she reappeared, sheathing her knife. A spray of blood glistened on her cheek.

"Two down," she whispered. "We need to keep an eye out for motion sensors, I nearly set one off on my way back. It seemed pretty randomly placed…"

Clint nodded. "Though we definitely don't have surprise on our side. Any idea on which way to go?"

"There's an office about halfway down on the west wall according to the schematics. I'm guessing he's holed up there."

"Hope so," Clint said as he started moving again, Natasha tight against his back. "Otherwise this is going to turn into a very big game of cat and mouse."

Natasha didn't ask who the cat was.

They moved in silence, pausing to listen for a hint of human presence. They came across four more of Sedov's soldiers on the way to the office, each dispatched with ruthless precision and lowered to the ground. Natasha grabbed a radio off one of the bodies. Who knew if that's how they were actually communicating. It would hopefully warn them of any sudden action.

Clint stopped at what seemed a few rows over from the office. He had seen five or six men standing evenly spaced in the gloom. Natasha peered past him before beckoning him back so they could talk.

"Would it kill them to turn the lights on?" Clint demanded.

Natasha shrugged, "Probably since it would make it easier for us."

The line of soldiers solidified the theory Sedov was in the office. They both knew from the schematics that the only way into it was through the soldiers.

"We can't take out one without alerting all the others," Clint pointed out.

"Could we draw off some of them?" Natasha asked, a plan forming. "Trigger one of the motion sensors farther back in the building. See if any of them come investigate."

"Somebody has to stay and keep an eye on things," Clint said, shaking his head. He didn't want to split up.

Natasha gave him an even look.

"I'll find a vantage point to have a view of the soldiers," Clint agreed after a moment.

"I can grab another radio," Natasha offered, deducing that Clint wasn't exactly thrilled with splitting up.

"Let's see if we can find a decent vantage point first."

After backtracking for a few minutes, Clint shouldered his bow and clambered up the side of a stack of crates. He dropped flat on the top and pulled on his night vision goggles. He surveyed the room and frowned. Moving closer to the edge, he gestured down to Natasha: three dozen in front of the office, five more roaming the aisles throughout the facility.

_Going to trip sensor._ Natasha signed in response. Clint nodded once, placing the radio within easy reach. He knocked an arrow and settled in to wait. It took more willpower than it should have to keep his attention focused on the office instead of Natasha's path through the warehouse.

The radio crackled to life beside him: "We've got motion over in area three."

The first line of soldiers converged and began moving through the space. Clint turned to watch as the others roaming through the maze turned and headed towards Natasha.

"Movement in area seven," crackled through the radio again. "They've split up."

This time, the front two rows peeled away from the office and trotted through the crates.

Clint winced as a sudden burst of gunfire lit up one corner of the warehouse sending black and white spots dancing across his vision. He pulled off the goggles, screaming silent curses to himself.

The soldiers outside the office were suddenly at attention, weapons at the ready. More gunfire. This time more towards the middle of the space.

Clint moved to a crouch and sent his arrow flying at the closest soldier. By the time his companions had turned to see what happened, he'd taken out the soldier at the opposite end. He managed to get off a third shot and nock a fourth arrow before they realized his position. Shots ricocheted as he threw himself flat.

He waited for the bullets to stop before risking a look around. He couldn't see anyone near him in the darkness. A slight buzz announced a shot from behind him. He turned around and sent an arrow back towards where he thought the shot originated. A muffled shout made Clint smile.

Faint sounds of shuffling caught his attention, bringing Clint back around. His gaze darted around the warehouse, waiting for any hint of movement. A slight shift in the shadows made him curse. While his vantage point made for a good view, it had the disadvantage of leaving him a bit stranded. He couldn't risk climbing down with his position having been spotted on two sides. But staying to be surrounded wasn't a great plan either.

A blast echoed through the warehouse, making Clint flinch at the violent sound. He narrowed his eyes and watched the corner now illuminated with flickers. He hoped that was Natasha's grenade. It did give him an idea. He turned back to watching the shadows, estimating how many men were hidden in the aisles around him, waiting to strike. The tramping of boots announced the movement of an orderly line from behind him, near the office.

The radio he had stolen remained ominously quiet. They'd switched frequencies.

Clint unhooked two of the grenades he carried, setting his bow down for a moment and preparing. He pulled the pin out of the first one and lobbed it towards the group he thought had the most men. It rolled along the ground towards the group as he prepped the second and tossed it in the opposite direction. Clint covered his ears and closed his eyes, pressing his head against the top of the crate.

His hands did little to muffle the explosions, the first blending into the second. Shouts of pain and the acrid stench of burning flesh reached him. He shook his head to clear some of the ringing from his ears and picked up his bow again. He moved to a crouch and sent arrows raining down on the men gathering from the office.

He hoped Natasha had taken this opportunity to get Sedov.

It took the soldiers a few precious minutes to figure out what had happened to their comrades and to bring their weapons to bear on the archer. Clint's next arrow exploded with a bright flash in the air above the soldiers, leaving them blinking away the spots flashing across their vision.

Clint seized the moment and launched himself onto a lower stack of crates.

* * *

Natasha crept through the warehouse, ignoring the echoing gunfire as she moved towards the office. She had to trust that Clint could hold his own and draw off enough of the guards while she took out Sedov. Maybe she'd leave him just alive enough for Clint to have some fun. The thought made her grin.

Only two ranks of men remained outside the office. She could handle that easily enough. It would be better if she could sneak through, she admitted. Doubling back, she managed to work her way to the very edge of the line. The warehouse was darker here, making it difficult to see the men she was only a few feet from.

She withdrew two knives and tossed them effortlessly at the last men in line. They both fell to the ground. Only the second man in the back row noticed. She was on him before he had time to do more than draw a breath. Her thighs around his neck had him turning red and struggling to drag in air as she pulled out her garrote and wrapped it around his neck, pulling up sharply and feeling it cut into the soft flesh. Another yank and she felt his windpipe start to crush. The man crumpled in a heap.

Natasha slipped back beside the wall that marked the edge of the office. The closer she got, the more uneasy the guards appeared. Their attention was focused solely on the firefight happening around Clint. None of them dared move to join, but Natasha could see the way their hands crept towards their weapons and their bodies remained taunt. They didn't like remaining out of the fight.

She smirked when the door came into view. Not a single man had done so much as glance back at her and no alarm had been raised to indicate the discovery of the men she'd killed. Holding her breath, she tried the handle, sending out a brief prayer to anyone listening that it would be unlocked. She didn't have the time or luck left to pick the lock. The handle clicked quietly as the latch withdrew. She drew a gun and stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind her deftly.

"Пресловутая Черная Вдова. Как приятно видеть вас," Sedov purred. _(The infamous Black Widow. How good to see you.)_

Natasha didn't respond. She allowed herself a moment to survey the room—five other men with guns pointed at her—before focusing on Sedov.

"Это почти жаль, что я собираюсь убить тебя," he continued. _(It's almost a pity that I'm going to kill you.)_

She raised an eyebrow at the man's arrogance, cataloging all the ways the men were vulnerable. The one closest to her was practically twitching and sweat beaded on his temples.

"Красная комната будет платить хорошие деньги, чтобы иметь вас обратно. Но я не могу рисковать их снова потерять вас или ваш партнер придет после меня. Вы оба умирают." _(The Red Room would pay good money to have you back. But I can't risk them losing you again or your partner coming after me. You will both die.)_

Sedov shrugged and raised his gun, taking aim at Natasha's heart. She nearly rolled her eyes at his stupidity. Did he think a bullet to the torso was the best way to kill? If he wanted to be certain he ought to go for the head.

His finger tightened on the trigger as she sent her own bullet towards his knee and dove to the side. The man beside her reacted too slowly, his gun dropping in surprise when she slammed into him. Natasha dug one of her remaining knives into the back of his neck, driving it upwards into his brain. She held on and grabbed hold of the back of the man's jacket as he slumped forward in death. A moment later bullets slammed into his vest.

Natasha gritted her teeth and let go of the knife. She remained standing for a minute until the shooting stopped. Sedov muttered something too low for her to catch. She took a deep breath and whipped out her last handgun, taking down two of the men next to the prone Sedov. Natasha ducked as the fourth man shot at her. Her next bullet went wide as the fifth man stepped aside and the fourth moved to reload.

Cursing, she shot again, sending the fifth to the ground with a neat hole in his head. In a move that would make Clint proud, she dove at the final assailant knocking him down as his gun went off. She slammed her hand into his face, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood gushed out, coating them both.

She grabbed the knife hanging on the man's belt. In one fluid motion, she ripped it free and slammed it down in his heart, twisting as it went in.

The man choked and looked surprised.

Natasha climbed off him and gathered her weapons methodically before moving to the whimpering Sedov.

"Пожалуйста," he said. _(Please.)_

Natasha examined her gun, checking the magazine and chamber for bullets.

"Я дам вам все, что вы хотите. Избавьте меня." _(I'll give you anything you want. Spare me.)_

She raised the gun and pointed it at his face.

His hands—covered in the blood from his knee—rose to shield his face.

Natasha squeezed the trigger. Blood and brain matter splattered the wall behind as the back of Sedov's head exploded.

An insistent pounding on the door broke into Natasha's mind and she turned. The guards had finally figured out something was wrong.

She dragged two of the bodies together, grabbed one of the guns, switched it to semi-automatic, and crouched behind the bodies, unhooking another grenade. The door shook. She waited, watching the door carefully as the hinges creaked and the frame rattled. Two more solid hits and the frame around the bolt splintered.

She grabbed hold of the pin.

The door crashed to the ground.

The grenade sailed through it and landed among the crowd of men gathered around.

Natasha ducked. Someone shouted. Everything turned white for a moment and then the smoke billowed into the room. Holding her breath, Natasha barreled out of the room gun firing at any hint of movement as she rushed to Clint's position.

* * *

Clint heard another explosion rip through the warehouse, this time from the direction of the office. He'd been too busy fending off the dozens of men attempting to bring him down. He took a moment to glance back, hoping to see Natasha silhouetted in the flames licking the doorway. A second later he turned back to the men shooting at him once again. At least that blast probably killed Sedov. He comforted himself with the fact that the sound of gunshots didn't match the ones around him. They wouldn't be shooting if she was dead.

Clint ripped another grenade loose and dropped it into the knot of soldiers beneath him. They'd gathered to strategize it seemed. In the chaos that followed he propelled himself across the stacks of crates, making it a few aisles away before dropping to the ground.

Heavy footsteps pounded behind him as he dodged through the shadows, working his way back towards the office. Turning a blind corner, he found himself face to face with another man.

"Hey!" the man shouted in surprise.

Clint sent an arrow through the man's skull, not pausing to retrieve it. Others would have heard his shout. There were still too many men chasing him for Clint to feel confident in getting out alive. He needed to find Natasha.

Right, left, left, straight for three rows, another right and two more lefts led him to the edge of warehouse. A sudden burning on his thigh had him spinning around and diving to the side. The man who had shot him dropped the now-empty gun and stepped forward.

Clint reached for an arrow only to realize he had three left. He changed his grip on his bow to more easily wield it as a staff. The man lumbered forward and swung hard at Clint's head. Clint ducked and whacked him across the shins with his bow.

The man didn't even stumble.

He dropped his meaty arm around Clint's neck and squeezed as the smaller man rose to his feet. Clint drew his knife and dug it deep into the man's forearm, gasping in the sudden rush of oxygen as he let go.

The man glared at the knife stuck in his arm, ripping it out and tossing it aside. He advanced again.

"C'mon man," Clint said shaking his head and running forward. He planted a foot against the man's stomach and a second one on his head, propelling himself over with a simple flip.

A fist slammed into Clint's jaw a moment later as the man whirled around and attacked.

Clint's head snapped to the side, his vision fading. His fingers scrabbled for purchase as the man lifted him up by the neck. The tight grip didn't help his vision return. Clint forced himself to stay calm and dragged his arms up to reach the guy's face. He dug his thumbs into the man's eye sockets and pressed as hard as he could. He was rewarded with a scream and a satisfying pop as one of the eyes dislodged from the socket.

The man bent over clutching his face. Clint took a deep breath and pulled out his handgun. He barely aimed before firing, sending the bullet straight through the man's hands and deep into his brain.

A shuffle behind him had him spinning, ready to fire. Only instinct kept him from firing at the flash of red in front of him. Natasha stood, breathing heavily, her own gun trained on him.

The pair lowered their weapons and surveyed the other. Natasha was covered in soot, her face cut and bleeding sluggishly in several places. He was sure there were bruises invisible to him in the gloom. He knew he probably looked just as bad.

"Sedov?"

"Dead."

Clint nodded. "How many?"

She shrugged. "You?"

Clint copied her shrug with a half-smile. His injured leg chose to give out at that moment, making him stumble.

The pair moved to sit behind a stack of crates, so Natasha could bind the wound. When she finished she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"We're not getting out of here, are we?" she finally whispered.

Clint hesitated. "We might."

"Not good odds."

He didn't say anything, merely closing his eyes as well. They could hear the remaining soldiers forming up an aisle away.

"I'm not going down without a fight," she said after a moment.

Clint smirked and opened his eyes to meet her green ones.

She broke eye contact to reload her guns and check her weapons. Clint knew he should be doing the same, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Marry me," he blurted.

Natasha's shocked gaze flew back to him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry) for the ending. Leave a review!
> 
>  
> 
> Preview of Next Chapter: They'd gotten inside easy enough. Phil had let himself hope, for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, they'd get out with the same ease.
> 
> Staring at the screen, he struggled not to check the time.
> 
> A flash of white nearly blinded him and his breath rushed out. It took far too long for the picture to clear. When it did, flames flickered and smoke billowed out of the remains of the building.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter of Happily Ever After Just Took Time...
> 
> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.
> 
> Thank you Eistir, tiziara, and Accolade_Bespoke for commenting on the last chapter.

 

_Red Room, Near Moscow—2005_

Natasha stalked into the Red Room headquarters, body still thrumming with adrenaline. Her last mission had been a success and left her wanting more. She dreaded having to return to Alexei and pretending to be a normal, boring wife. She wanted to be out doing _something_. Her skin itched with the sensation of being trapped. Again. Missions were the only time she felt like she could breathe anymore.

"Natasha," Ivan called from the end of the hall.

Her head snapped up and she hurried forward. It had been a while since Ivan met her when she returned from a mission. Usually he had someone else take her report, only sending for her if he needed clarification or if it was an unusual mission. She couldn't shake the sudden feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

"Sir," she said, stepping into Ivan's office.

"You succeeded?"

"Yes," she said, opening her mouth to continue with her report when he held up his hand.

"Good. I expect nothing less of you. There is something I must tell you."

Natasha stiffened. Whatever it was couldn't be good. Her brain began running through options. Had she messed up? Were they sending her somewhere else?

"Your husband is dead."

Natasha stopped breathing for a second as the words hit her. It was the last thing she would have ever thought of hearing.

"How?" she finally asked, pushing aside the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She was the Black Widow, she felt nothing.

"A training accident," Ivan said. "He was testing a new plane and it exploded on landing."

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded once.

"You must return to his house and play the part of a grieving widow for a few days. Then we will extract you."

"I understand."

"Dismissed."

Natasha hesitated at the doorway.

"Yes?" Ivan demanded, annoyance making his voice dangerous.

"The marriage, sir," Natasha said. "I want it annulled."

Ivan gave her a calculating look but nodded after a moment. "Of course. When we bring you in again I'll have the papers filed and copies for you."

Natasha nodded and left the office.

Her path through the compound and to the waiting car was mechanical. She drove through the familiar streets of Moscow and parked in front of the house she shared with Alexei. _Had shared_ , she corrected herself. He was dead.

She let herself inside, shutting and locking the door behind her before she slid to the floor, tears spilling out of her eyes. It wouldn't be an act. She _was_ grieving. A training accident. That was always the official cover story the Red Room gave. She didn't doubt for a moment that it had been on Ivan's orders that the plane exploded. It was her fault. Her fault he was dead.

She really was a widow.

* * *

_A Warehouse in Sofia, Bulgaria—2009_

"What?" Natasha demanded, unsure she had heard him correctly.

Clint took a deep breath, his resolve solidifying. "Marry me."

"Right now?" she said. He could see her brain whirring.

"If we survive this."

Natasha just stared at him.

"Nat, I love you and if we get out of this I want to marry you," Clint said.

Natasha shook her head and smiled. "You're insane. But yes, if we get out of this, I will marry you."

Clint's grin covered his entire face.

"Come out and ve vill give you a quick death," one of the soldiers yelled in heavily accented English.

Natasha stole a quick kiss from Clint before slipping back behind her Black Widow mask. Clint forced himself to stop smiling and focus on the task at hand. He wasn't going to get to marry her if they didn't survive.

He nodded once at her and the pair stepped out firing at the array of soldiers in front of them. It was the last thing the soldiers had expected them to do and their response was slow. By the time they shot back, both assassins had ducked behind cover again.

Natasha ejected her clips and loaded new ones into the guns. She shook her head at Clint. Those were her last ones. Clint had emptied his guns and had four arrows left, one of which exploded. Both still had a handful of explosives but those wouldn't do them much good.

Clint stuck his head out for a moment to see what the soldiers were doing.

"Shit," he said to Natasha. A bullet bounced off the metal crate beside them. "They're packing a shit ton of C-4 together."

"That'll take them out too, bring down the warehouse on top of all of us," Natasha said.

Clint nodded.

Looking around, Natasha zeroed in on the door of one of the metal crates behind them. She nodded towards it and Clint frowned. It had only a simple padlock on it.

"If it's empty," she shrugged.

Clint chanced one more look towards the soldiers. "Not much time if we're gonna do it."

"I'd like to avoid dying."

Natasha darted away and went to work on the lock. Her deft fingers had it open in a few seconds. She edged one door open gently, trying to keep it from squeaking and alerting the soldiers to their plan. She sighed, almost in relief. The container was empty enough for the pair to get inside.

Clint moved to join her, slipping in through the cracked door. Together, the pair pulled it closed from the inside and moved to take cover behind some of the boxes stacked inside.

They didn't say anything.

The soldiers ignited the C-4.

* * *

_Natasha's Safe House, Sofia, Bulgaria—2009_

Phil struggled to keep from pulling at his hair. He knew it was already standing up from the many times he'd run his hands through it.

Letting Clint and Natasha go into the warehouse alone was stupid, he'd decided. They had no way of knowing what lay in wait inside. His eyes darted back to the center computer in front of him. It showed a grainy, black and white, satellite image of the warehouse, the best he could manage. The other computers were monitoring official and unofficial chatter and working to dig up more information on Sedov and his known associates in case this didn't work.

Phil refused to think of what happened if his agents didn't walk out of that warehouse.

Time seemed to have stopped while moving relentlessly fast. Every second flew by yet every minute was a minute too long to not see his agents walking out.

They'd gotten inside easy enough. Phil had let himself hope, for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, they'd get out with the same ease.

Staring at the screen, he struggled not to check the time.

A flash of white nearly blinded him and his breath rushed out. It took far too long for the picture to clear. When it did, flames flickered and smoke billowed out of the remains of the building.

Phil rewound the footage, hoping and praying to see some sign that his agents had left before the explosion.

Nothing.

He sank into his chair.

* * *

Natasha winced as she pushed herself to her feet. The entire container had toppled when the bomb went off. If she had to guess, at least part of the ceiling had collapsed and the soldiers were dead. She strained to make out Clint in the darkness of the crate.

A groan had her stumbling towards what she believed was the door.

"Nat?" he choked out.

"Clint, hold on, I'm coming to you."

"'M alright."

Natasha rolled her eyes at his bravado. She tripped over something and heard another groan.

"That was me," Clint's muffled voice said.

"Sorry," Natasha said through gritted teeth. Tripping had sent sharp pain shooting up from her knee. It had definitely gotten twisted at some point in the night.

"Think you can stand?" she asked, reaching down to grab hold of her partner.

Clint heaved himself to his feet, leaning against Natasha. "We're alive."

"Very observant of you."

She could practically feel his grin.

"Means you have to marry me."

Natasha couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her face. "We're not out of here yet."

The pair moved slowly through the container towards the sliver of light visible through the door. Natasha kept an arm wrapped around Clint, leaning on him almost as much as he leaned on her. She could feel her skin pulling from the burns. She really hoped there weren't any soldiers waiting for them.

Only one side of the door was unlatched and in the explosion it had become the bottom. Natasha kicked at it.

She knelt and peered out. Smoke made it hard to see too far, but the area appeared to be free of hostiles.

"I'll follow you through," Clint said when Natasha turned to face him.

She quirked a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

Wanting to leave as soon as possible, Natasha crawled out with no more argument. She stood up cautiously, finger ready on the trigger of her gun. Just beneath the thick smoke, she could make out a couple of charred bodies beneath rubble.

"Clear."

Clint grunted as he bent to the ground and crawled his way out. He dragged himself to his feet and turned to face Natasha. She nearly winced at the massive lump on his head and the bruises forming around his neck.

"They made a doorway for us," Natasha said, nodding to what used to be the corner of the building. The wall had been blown outward, leaving the ceiling to collapse. Smoldering crates and dented shipping containers were visible in parts.

"How helpful of them," Clint said.

Clint found himself grinning as they limped through the rubble and out towards the city. "Where's the nearest church?"

Natasha turned to him confused for a moment before her expression morphed to one of exasperation. "You are bleeding and very likely concussed. I'm not in much better shape. We should get back to Coulson."

"Tasha," Clint said, stopping to catch her arm and bring her to face him. "If you don't want to get married we don't have to. But I want to call you my wife before I die. I want the possibility of living as an old married couple. I love you."

Natasha opened her mouth to speak but stopped. She didn't know what to say. Her brain raced, trying to figure out her emotions.

"Let's find a church, get cleaned up, and call Phil," Clint nearly pled.

She sighed and stepped forward to kiss him softly and deeply. "Okay."

Natasha led the way through the city to a no-questions-asked hotel she knew of. She promised Clint there was a church nearby. About a block away from their destination, Natasha stopped and pointed across the street.

A sweet smile fell across Clint's face at the small church. Flowering vines twined up the sides of the gothic spires, a little churchyard ran along the side. It was perfect.

"There's a bell to wake the priest," Natasha said quietly.

Clint slung his arm over her shoulders and squeezed. "Let's get cleaned up."

Inside the hotel room, Clint showered quickly and wrapped a bandage around the bullet crease in his thigh (Natasha has sweet talked a first aid kit from the desk worker). While Natasha showered, he picked up the phone and called Phil.

"Hello," Phil answered morosely after the ring.

"Hey Phil," Clint said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

"Jesus Christ Clint, I thought you were dead," Phil said. His relief was palpable through the phone.

"Yeah, we're okay, listen—"

"Where are you? What about Sedov?" Phil demanded.

"Sedov's dead and—"

"Good. You two headed back yet?"

Clint rolled his eyes, "Would you shut up and let me talk for a second?"

Phil stayed silent.

"Listen, I need you to come meet us. I need a best man."

The silence grew worryingly long. "You need a…?"

"Best man," Clint said slowly. "I'll explain when you get here." Clint gave him the address and promptly hung up, refusing to answer the other man's questions.

Natasha emerged from the bathroom toweling her hair. She returned his smile and moved to sit on the bed beside him.

"Phil said he'll meet us at the church."

She nodded and set the towel aside, pulling the hotel comb through her long curls. Clint lay back, just watching her, enthralled. He sat up when she finished. "Shall we?"

Natasha allowed him to pull her to her feet and tuck a curl behind her ear. Neither were able to stop smiling it seemed.

They walked to the church in silence, hands joined together. Clint paused at the door, giving her another chance to back out. Natasha didn't hesitate as she reached out to ring the bell.

"Я люблю тебя," she whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. _(I love you.)_

The door opened to reveal an older man in a dressing gown with wispy, white hair. "Мога ли да ти помогна?" _(Can I help you?)_

"Бихме искали да се оженят," Clint said in halting Bulgarian.

The priest surveyed them for a moment before stepping aside to allow them entry.

"Give me a moment," the man said, switching to English, as he closed the door behind the assassins. He left them standing in the dim vestibule and disappeared down a hallway.

"My Bulgarian wasn't that bad, was it?" Clint said to Natasha.

She just smirked at him.

He grumbled something inaudible under his breath.

"Think he'll do it?"

Natasha shrugged, "Why wouldn't he?"

"I think you have to wait a couple of days in the US to get a license."

"Why do you know that?" she said.

Clint looked sheepish for a moment. "I may have looked into getting married before."

"To me?" Natasha was half teasing.

Clint shifted guiltily. "It was a long time ago."

Natasha laughed at his discomfort. "Relax, I'm not going to kill you over some past girlfriend. I am technically a widow. And he'll marry us. It might take a sizeable donation to the church, but I doubt it will come to that."

He blew out a breath and wrapped his arm around her waist.

A door opened in the hallway, drawing the pair's attention.

The priest returned, now dressed in his robes, with an elderly woman close behind.

"My wife," he said in explanation. The woman smiled and nodded her head at them. "Now you wish to get married?"

"We do," Natasha said with a firm nod.

Clint nodded as well.

The man studied them for a second before nodding once. "And are you members of the Orthodox Church?"

Clint shook his head, unsure why it mattered.

"I was baptized as a child," Natasha allowed.

"But have lapsed since?" the man asked shrewdly.

She nodded.

The priest smiled at her. "And is there no family you wish to invite?"

"The closest thing we've got is on his way."

"Good. My wife will take Miss…"

"Romanoff," Natasha supplied. "Natasha is fine."

"She will take you to a private room until we're ready," he said. "And Mister…"

"Barton. Clint Barton."

The priest smiled and continued, "Mr. Barton will come with me until your friend arrives."

His wife took Natasha's arm and led her down the hall. Natasha gave Clint a fleeting smile before she disappeared through a door.

"This way," the priest gestured towards the other side of the vestibule.

Clint followed him easily.

The room Natasha had been sent to was decorated in various shades of green. It had a couch and armchair in front of a small table and a mirrored table against the far wall beside a small changing screen.

"Thank you," Natasha said in Bulgarian.

"We will go out to the garden in a bit to find you some flowers," the woman replied, steering Natasha into the chair. "Have you a dress?"

Natasha shook her head, "I'm afraid this is all I have."

The woman pursed her lips. "I'll see if I've got something suitable. We get lots of donations."

"You don't…" Natasha protested, stopping when the woman bustled out the door. She sighed and sat down, enjoying the soft cushions against her abused muscles.

Ten minutes later, the woman returned carrying an armful of clothing. She dumped it all on the couch and beckoned for Natasha to follow her. "Flowers first, then we'll find a dress."

"I don't want to wear a dress," Natasha said, allowing herself to be led out to the back garden. The woman carried a flashlight and used it to illuminate the myriad of flowers blooming.

"Roses," she said, pulling a pair of pruning shears out of her dress pocket and clipping several red rose stems. She continued talking as she moved through the flower beds, gathering bunches as she went. "And some white daisies. Perhaps some lilac in there too. Are there any others you'd like?"

Natasha shook her head. The pile the woman held was more than enough for her.

They hurried back to the room.

"You try on those dresses while I make the flowers," the woman ordered.

"I really have no interest in wearing a dress."

The woman gave her a sly smile, "Well there's no harm in trying them on anyway."

Natasha eyed the priest's wife while she worked demurely to assemble the flowers. She shook her head slightly and gathered up the dresses to try behind the screen. It would be easier to do as the woman asked right now. The first dress she pulled on was long, white, and very outdated.

"Let's see," the woman commanded.

Natasha stepped out from behind the screen with a frown.

The woman tutted and shook her head. "That won't do at all. Though the color isn't bad."

"Not white," Natasha blurted. She blushed a bit at her sudden outburst. "I'd rather not wear white."

The woman nodded, "Probably for the best, there wasn't much white in the pile anyway."

Natasha stepped behind the screen to change again, obediently handing out the few white dresses she had. She bit her lip to keep from telling the woman that she'd already done the big white wedding thing and it hadn't worked out so well for her. Or her husband.

The next dress was a glaring shade of red, short and tight. The priest's wife sent her back to try on another one immediately. A pale pink sundress, a brown sack-like garment, and a black ball gown were all vetoed. They were nearing the end of the pile and Natasha found herself hoping she would escape wearing a dress. She picked up the sky blue dress, it hit right around her knees and had capped sleeves. Looking at herself in the mirror, Natasha actually liked it.

She stepped out from behind the screen to the woman's triumphant smile. "That's the one."

"It's a sundress," Natasha protested. "Not exactly wedding material."

The woman smiled, "But you like it."

Natasha couldn't disagree.

"Wear it for a while. If it bothers you, you can always change back," the woman offered.

Natasha grimaced and took a seat in the armchair again. They pair sat in silence for a few minutes, the priest's wife working diligently to arrange the flowers. She held them up with an "Aha!" and showed them to Natasha. "What do you think?"

"They're beautiful," Natasha answered.

A soft knock on the door had the woman setting the flowers in a vase and then moving to answer it. She opened the door to allow her husband inside.

"Miss Romanoff," the priest said with a smile. "You look lovely."

Natasha returned his warmth with a smile of her own.

"I was hoping to speak with you before the ceremony. Your friend has arrived and is with Mr. Barton now."

His wife nodded to Natasha and slipped out of the room.

"You said you were baptized in the Church?" the priest asked.

"Yes," Natasha said. "In Russia."

He nodded. "Good. I would not be allowed to perform the ceremony if you hadn't been."

"I understand."

The priest sat down on the couch leaned back, letting his hands rest in front of him. "Tell me why you wish to marry Mr. Barton."

Natasha thought for a moment about how to respond. "Because it will make him happy."

"Not because it will make you happy?"

She shrugged. "He makes me happy, so why shouldn't I endeavor to do the same for him?"

The priest smiled. "Is there any reason you cannot be legally wed today?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I was married before, but my husband died and the marriage was annulled."

"Why did you marry him?" he asked.

"Because I had to."

The priest looked like he wanted to ask more questions about her previous marriage. He gave slight shake of his head. "I do not presume to know who or what you are Miss Romanoff. But I can tell that you are dangerous people. Mr. Barton has asked that the ceremony follow a typical American one. Have you any objections?"

Natasha smirked, "Like I said, I've been married before. I don't need to go through the full ceremony again."

The priest chuckled. "Good."

"But I'm fairly certain you aren't supposed to alter the ceremony in anyway."

"No," he said softly. "I'm not. This is not the first time I've made an exception, nor will it be the last. Tell me one more thing: do you truly wish, with your whole heart, to marry Mr. Barton?"

Natasha looked out the small window, thinking for a minute. She turned back to the priest, sincerity bleeding out of her voice. "I do."

He nodded and stood up. "Excellent. I will go prepare the sanctuary. Is it all right if I send your friend over should he wish to see you?"

Natasha bobbed her head once. The priest hurried out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

Clint grinned when Phil walked into the room. The men waited for the priest to leave before speaking.

"Clint, what the hell are you thinking?" Phil demanded. "You know there's no way SHIELD is going to let you two stay partners after this."

"Who says they have to know?" Clint countered.

Phil sighed and sat down, running a hand over his face. "You know, until you called me I thought you were dead?"

Clint sat as well. "I'm sorry."

"You're my best friend," Phil said. "I would do anything for you, but I don't think you've thought this through."

"I've been thinking about marrying Nat for months."

Phil looked surprised.

"I love her, Phil."

Phil closed his mouth for a second before starting to speak, "What's the point of having this wedding if you don't want SHIELD to know? Is it even a legal ceremony?"

Clint nodded, "Yes, it's legal. And I need you to bury the paperwork as deep as you can so SHIELD doesn't know. We all know that Natasha and I work best together, SHIELD splitting us up because of their ridiculous rules made by some bureaucrat will only hurt the organization."

"Clint, she's not exactly the most stable human…" Phil cautioned.

Clint glared at him. "Neither am I."

Phil sighed. "I didn't mean it like that. I like Natasha, I do. And I like how you are with her. But I'm still afraid that she's going to change her mind about all of this and take off. And before you get mad at me for thinking that of her, I'm worried that you're going to break her heart too. It's a worry that goes both ways and I'm not sure that marriage is the right thing to do."

"Phil," Clint said after a minute. "Natasha and I are getting married tonight. Now, are you going to support us or not?"

Phil sighed again. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a couple of items, setting them on the table.

"This is why it took me so long to get here," Phil said. "All of your guys' stuff is in the car. The keys are here and it's parked right outside. I'll catch a cab or walk back. I booked a room at the Arena di Serdica for the two of you. I tried for the honeymoon suite, but it was already taken. Still, it's a nice place."

Clint stood up and wrapped his arms around the other man, clapping his back. "Thank you."

Phil squeezed the back of Clint's neck, throat too tight to speak.

A knock on the door drew the two men apart. The priest's wife stepped inside, holding a white button-down shirt and a purple tie. Her English was very clipped and halting. "You will wear these."

Clint nodded, not willing to argue with the woman after disturbing her and her husband so late at night.

"These also," she said, forcing something into his hand. "From old people here for young people in love."

Clint opened his palm to reveal a set of gold wedding bands.

The priest's wife had already left.

Phil clapped his hand on Clint's shoulder. "I'll file the paperwork with SHIELD to get you guys some leave tomorrow."

Clint smiled. "I guess I'd better change."

"Think I'll go say hi to Natasha," Phil said, moving to the door.

* * *

Phil hesitated for a moment outside of Natasha's door. He wasn't sure how she'd react to his presence. He knocked and opened the door when told to come in.

"It's good to see you alive," he said, smiling sincerely at her. "Nice dress."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, "The priest's wife made me try it on."

"Clint got forced into something a bit more formal too."

"Good, at least I won't be alone."

The pair lapsed into silence.

"You tried to talk him out of it didn't you?" Natasha finally said.

Phil nodded, "I thought he was going to punch me."

"Are you going to try to talk me out of it?" she asked levelly.

Phil shook his head. "No. I knew you wouldn't have said yes if you weren't truly willing to commit."

"You still don't want us to do this."

"I—" Phil stopped himself to think. "I think that this could have widespread consequences if SHIELD or some enemy finds out. I'm also worried that this isn't going to last."

Natasha nodded but didn't speak.

"But, you two are good for each other and this makes you happy. How can I deny either of you happiness?"

"Thank you," Natasha whispered, looking down at her lap.

Phil cleared his throat. "Clint's got the keys to the car and your stuff is inside. He's also got a room key for a hotel tonight. Consider it my wedding gift to you."

Natasha smiled, "Thanks. What about SHIELD?"

"I already filed the paperwork to get you guys some time off. We'll fly out tomorrow evening and then you guys should have a good amount of leave."

"You're a decent enough handler," Natasha said with a smirk.

Phil grinned and stood up, "I'm going to find the priest, get this show on the road."

Natasha watched him leave, a small smile still on her lips.

It was only a few minutes before the priest's wife returned. She handed the bouquet to Natasha and led her out of the room.

"When you're ready," the woman said, leaving Natasha standing out of sight at the end of the chapel.

Natasha took a deep breath and stepped into the aisle. She couldn't help but stare at Clint, beaming.

She paced herself, trying not to run up the aisle. It wasn't a problem she'd had when she married Alexei. She took Clint's hands, one of his wrapping around hers to help steady the bouquet.

"Lord," the priest said. "We gather here today to witness the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony. We ask that you bless us as you bless their marriage and watch over us. Amen."

"Amen," they echoed.

The priest's wife stepped forward and took the bouquet with a smile.

Her husband turned to Clint, "Mr. Barton, you asked for a short, American ceremony so I believe we should move to the important part. Do you have the rings?"

Natasha looked surprised as Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of rings, handing them to the priest. She'd ask about them later she decided.

The priest muttered a brief prayer over the rings and offered one back to Clint. "Take Miss Romanoff's left hand and repeat after me."

Clint followed the instructions.

"I, Clinton Francis Barton, take thee, Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, to be my lawfully wedded wife."

He squeezed her fingers.

"To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do us part."

He paused for a moment. "With this ring, I thee wed."

"Your turn Miss Romanoff," the priest said.

"I, Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, take thee, Clinton Francis Barton, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward."

She swallowed, her voice getting thicker as she continued. "For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do us part."

She slipped the ring onto his finger, "With this ring, I thee wed."

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost," the priest intoned, making a cross in the air. He grinned. "I pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Clint grabbed Natasha with a feral smile and dipped her before kissing her hard. Phil whistled, causing the two to break apart, laughing a bit.

"Congratulations," the priest said. "Before you go, we must have the proper paperwork signed and dated so that your wedding is legally binding."

He pulled out a handful of documents and instructed the newlyweds and Phil where to sign.

The priest's wife hugged and kissed Natasha on the cheeks before repeating it with Clint. She whispered a blessing in Bulgarian to each of them and waved cheerily as they departed. The priest followed them to the door.

"Congratulations," he said. "May you live a long and happy life together."

"Thank you," Clint said.

"Благодаря ти за всичко," Natasha said. _(Thank you for everything.)_

The trio of agents walked out of the church. Phil kissed Natasha's cheek and clapped Clint on the back. Stepping back, he gave the two a grin, "Congratulations. I'll see you both at the airport for our flight out."

"Phil," Clint called as the man started to walk away. "Thanks."

The other man raised his hand and sauntered down the street with his hands in his pockets.

* * *

The Arena di Serdica was a strange but stunning mix of modern and ancient. The ancient Roman ruined amphitheater matched the pale colored walls and glass structure built around it. The pair checked in easily enough, Phil's preparations had paid off. They were escorted by a bellhop up to their room, and its view of the city. A bottle of champagne was already on ice.

"Let us know if you require anything," the man said in thick English, accepting Clint's tip with a slight bow and backing out of the room.

"I could get used to a place like this," Clint said, tossing his bag down on the floor and moving to pop open the champagne.

Natasha slid off her shoes and opened the doors to the balcony, stepping outside and leaning against the railing. A moment later, Clint appeared at her side and handed her a flute of champagne. She accepted it, turning to look at her left hand and rolling the ring slightly.

"If you don't like it we can get new rings," Clint offered.

Natasha shook her head and looked up to meet his gaze, "No, it's perfect. I wish we could wear them all the time. It's too much of a giveaway at SHIELD and in the field."

Clint took her hand, "True. But it's easy enough to wear them as necklaces under our clothes at SHIELD."

She leaned up to kiss him gently. His hand slid around her waist to pull her closer.

"I love you Natasha," he whispered fervently. "I will love you until I die and alwyas have your back. I will follow you through hell if I have to. I'll cook dinner every night you ask me too and buy you as many books as you want."

Tears pricked at Natasha's eyes. "Clint, you saved me. From the day we met you've been a constant force of good in my life and I love you. I will love you as much as I can and as well as I can. I will protect you and never push you away."

Clint clinked his glass against Natasha's. "To us."

"To us," Natasha echoed and took a sip of her champagne.

The pair stood in silence, enjoying the view of the city and the presence of each other.

"Now, should we make the most of this lovely hotel room Phil booked for us?" Clint asked when they finished their drinks.

"Is that your subtle way of asking to have sex?"

Clint pretended to be offended, "Of course not! That was my subtle way of asking to take my wife to bed and consummate our marriage."

"Well how could a girl resist an offer like that," Natasha said with an eye roll.

Clint scooped Natasha into his arms—earning a surprised squeak—and carried her into the room, tossing her onto the bed while kicking off his shoes before he moved to cover her body with his own.

Natasha kissed him hard, twisting her fingers into his short hair and scratching at his scalp. Clint responded with equal fervor, his tongue battling with hers. One of his hands crept up her leg and traced patterns on the outside of her thigh.

Her hands slipped down his neck and over his shoulders before she loosened his tie and pulled it off. Her fingers worked frantically to unbutton his shirt and push it apart. With a quick twist of her body she rolled them over and pinned Clint beneath her, straddling his hips. Pulling away from his mouth she nipped and sucked down his neck until she reached his chest. She flicked his right nipple with a finger as her teeth scraped across his left.

Clint gasped and fisted one hand into the bed before reaching down to shove the skirt of her dress up. He rubbed at her through the cotton of her panties, feeling her wet warmth through the thin fabric.

Natasha arched into his touch, leaving her work on his chest and focusing on her own pleasure.

"Off," Clint grunted, tugging at her underwear. Rolling off of him, Natasha pulled her dress over her head and slipped of her bra and underwear, tossing them off to the side.

Clint took the opportunity to slide his shirt off and remove his pants. He was surprised to find his belt and zipper undone already. He hadn't even noticed Natasha touching them. She smirked at him when he met her gaze.

As soon as his pants and boxers had dropped to the floor, Clint was back on top of Natasha, his callused fingers stroked across her smooth skin, moving to pluck at her nipples and roll them between his fingers. He dipped his tongue into her belly button, getting rewarded by a full body shiver from her.

"Clint," she whined as he breathed against her pussy.

He chuckled and licked a long stripe up to her clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth for only a moment before pulling away. One hand slipped between her legs, the other fell to his aching cock and pumped twice to relieve some of his tension.

His fingers dipped into Natasha's wetness before two of them pushed inside of her. His mouth went back to work on her clit, licking and sucking at it with abandon. Natasha panted and moaned as he scissored his fingers inside of her.

One of her hands tangled in his hair, the other gripped the duvet.

"More," she demanded, pushing down on his head as she ground her hips up. She could feel the tension coiling in her stomach.

Clint grinned and added a third finger. He replaced his tongue with his thumb, rubbing insistently at her clit, admiring the way her whole body was undulating beneath his touch. Her breaths became more uneven, turning into high-pitched moans.

"Please."

Ducking his head back down, Clint started licking at her clit again, scraping his teeth over it once before sucking on it again. Natasha was tensing beneath him, her legs tightening around his head as her orgasm washed over her.

Clint thrust his fingers slowly as the waves of pleasure rolled through her.

Natasha dragged him up to kiss him hungrily, shoving her tongue into his mouth and licking away every taste of her slick.

He lined himself up and pushed into her, sliding in slowly. They shuddered in unison as he bottomed out and froze.

"Tasha," he whispered. Her eyes met his and Clint bent down for a sweet kiss.

"Я люблю тебя," Natasha sighed. _(I love you.)_

Clint began thrusting slow and deep into his wife, keeping his gaze on her face. It didn't take long before they began moving faster and harder, their bodies aching for release as the pleasure built. The pair climaxed in unison, each breathing the other's name.

* * *

_Upstate New York—2009_

_Three days later…_

"Why did Phil send us here?" Clint asked as he and Natasha came to a stop at the end of the long gravel driveway. They were in upstate New York on Phil's orders. He'd texted them, claiming he was needed to deal with Tony Stark and sent them to the house in the middle of rural New York.

Natasha threw the car into park and removed the key. She stared up at the pale blue house in front of them. "No idea."

The pair stepped out of the car and surveyed the building. It looked safe enough, especially since Phil had told them they could relax. The pair walked up to the front door, grabbing the envelope taped to it. Clint pulled a couple of pieces of paper from inside and shook a pair of keys into his hand.

"Enjoy your vacation," he said, passing a scrap of paper to Natasha.

She snorted at the scribbled note and leaned over to see what Clint was looking at.

"Shit," he breathed.

"Is that?"

Clint nodded, dumbfounded. "The lease? Yeah."

"He bought us a house?" Natasha asked.

Clint looked down at the keys in his hand before looking at Natasha. "Shall we?"

Inserting the key into the door, Clint turned the handle and pushed it open. The pair stepped inside the house, letting the door fall shut behind them. In the middle of the room they entered was a large bed, made up with a blue and white bedspread and pillows.

Natasha laughed as she picked up the note on the bed, showing it to Clint.

_This is all you're getting from me. – Phil_

Clint grinned, "Looks like we have to go furniture shopping."

-Fin-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has taken me over four and a half years to complete this story. It's been a huge part of my life and I'm both sad and thrilled to be done with it. Shout out to my friends for listening to me talk about it for so long and for encouraging me to keep going and finish (especially Laurel). Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, and read this story. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, subscribed, gave kudos, and read this story. I hope you enjoyed it.


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